• 


Love  in  Old  Cloathes 

And  Other  Stories 


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"I'M   TOMMY   BIGGS,   MISS   LUCRETIA 


Love    in    Old    Cloathes 
and   Other  Stories. 

H.   C.   Bunner 
H 


Illustrated  by  W.  T.  Smedley,  Orson 
Lowell,    and     Andre     Castaigne 


Charles  Scribner's  Sons 
New  York  cccccc;  1897 


Copyright,  1896,  by 
Cbarles  Scrtbner's  Sons 


TROW  DIRECTORr 
i  AND  BOOKBINDING  COVPAKT 


U 


TO 

A.  L.  B. 


264025 


CONTENTS 

Page 

Love  in  Old  Cloathes,  .    ...  / 

A  Letter  and  a  Paragraph,    .  -.  25 

"As  One  Having  Authority"  49 

Cra%y  Wife's  Ship,     ....  79 

French  for  a  Fortnight,     .    .    .  99 

The  Red  Silk  Handkerchief,  .     .  127 

Our  Aromatic  Uncle,    ....  187 


LIST   OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


"  I'm  Tommy  Biggs,  Miss  Lucretia,"  .  Frontispiece 

Facing 
page 

"'All  right  now,  Bishop/  I  beard  him 

say" 54 


"  The  Bishop,  his  eyes  still  far  away,  his 
hands  stretched  out  over  the  people, 
went  on," j8 

Why  might  not  the  Reverend  Mr.  Pentagon 
take  lodgings  at  the  inn  of  Monsieur 
Perot? 106 

Mr.  Pentagon  opened  his  eyes  wide  to  take 

in  the  unaccustomed  scene,  .    .    .    .    116 

He  saw  for  the  first  time  two  huge  signs,  .    122 


xii  LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Facing 
page 

It  was  on  a  summer  morning,    ....    790 


Then  he  began, .    .  196 

Told  him  all  the  things  that  I  should  not 

have  known  how  to  say, 200 

"  Dear  Aunt  Lucretia," 206 

"  You're  my  own  dear  Uncle  David,  any 
way!" 210 

The  duplicity  of  which  he  had  been  guilty 

weighed  on  his  spirit, 214 

Exit  our  Aromatic  Uncle, 21  j 


LOVE  IN  OLD  CLOATHES 


LOVE  IN  OLD  CLOATHES 


NEWE  YORK,  ye  1st  Aprile,  1883. 

YB  worste  of  my  ailment  is  this,  yfc  it  grow- 
eth  not  Less  with  much  nursinge,  but  is 
like  to  those  fevres  wch  y6  leeches  Starve,  'tis 
saide,  for  that  y6  more  Bloode  there  be  in 
ye  Sicke  man's  Bodie,  ye  more  foode  is  there 
for  y6  Distemper  to  feede  upon. — And  it  is 
moste  fittinge  yfc  I  come  backe  to  ys  my 
Journall  (wherein  I  have  not  writt  a  Lyne 
these  manye  months)  on  ye  1st  of  Aprile, 
beinge  in  some  Sort  myne  owne  foole  and 
y6  foole  of  Love,  and  a  poore  Butt  on  whome 
his  hearte  hath  play'd  a  Sorry  tricke. — 

For  it  is  surelie  a  strange  happenninge, 
that  I,  who  am  ofte  accornpted  a  man  of 
ye  Worlde,  (as  ye  Phrase  goes,)  sholde  be  soe 
Overtaken  and  caste  downe  lyke  a  Schoole- 
boy  or  a  countrie  Bumpkin,  by  a  meere 
Mayde,  &  sholde  set  to  Groaninge  and 
Sighinge,  &,  for  that  She  will  not  have  me 


4  LOVE  IN  OLD  CLOATHES 

Sighe  to  Her,  to  Groaninge  and  Sigliinge  on 
paper,  wch  is  ye  greter  Foolishnesse  in  Me, 
y*  some  one  maye  reade  it  Here-after,  who 
hath  taken  his  dose  of  ye  same  Physicke,  and 
made  no  Wrye  faces  over  it ;  in  wch  case  I 
doubte  I  shall  be  much  laugh'd  at. — Yet  soe 
much  am  I  a  foole,  and  soe  enamour'd  of  my 
Foolishnesse,  y*  I  have  a  sorte  of  Shamefull 
Joye  in  tellinge,  even  to  my  Journall,  yfc  I  am 
mightie  deepe  in  Love  \vithe  ye  yonge 
Daughter  of  Mistresse  Ffrench,  and  all  maye 
knowe  what  an  Angell  is  ye  Daughter,  since 
I  have  chose  Mre-  French  for  my  Mother  in 
Lawe. — (Though  she  will  have  none  of  my 
choosinge.) — and  I  likewise  take  comforte 
in  ye  Fancie,  yfc  this  poore  Sheete,  whon  I 
write,  may  be  made  of  ye  Raggs  of  some 
lucklesse  Lover,  and  maye  ye  more  readilie 
drinke  up  my  complaininge  Inke.— 

This  muche  I  have  learnt  yfc  Fraunce 
distilles  not,  nor  y6  Indies  growe  not, 
ye  Eemedie  for  my  Aile. — For  when  I  Ist  be 
came  sensible  of  y6  folly  of  my  Suite,  I  tooke 
to  drynkinge  &  smoakinge,  thinkinge  to  cure 
my  minde,  but  all  I  got  was  a  head  ache,  for 
fellowe  to  my  Hearte  ache. — A  sorrie  Payre ! 
— I  then  made  Shifte,  for  a  while,  withe  a 


LOVE  IN  OLD   GLOATUES  5 

Bicycle,  but  breakinge  of  Bones  mendes  no 
breakinge  of  Heartes,  and  60  myles  a  Daye 
bringes  me  no  nearer  to  a  Weddinge. — This 
being  Lowe  Sondaye,  (wch  my  Hearte 
telleth  me  better  than  ye  Allmanack,)  I  will 
goe  to  Churche ;  wh.  I  maye  chaunce  to  see 
her. — Laste  weeke,  her  Eastre  bonnett  vastlie 
pleas'd  me,  beinge  most  cunninglie  devys'd 
in  ye  mode  of  oure  Grandmothers,  and  verie 
lyke  to  a  coales  Scuttle,  of  white  satine.— 

2nd  Aprile. 

I  trust  I  make  no  more  moane,  than  is 
just  for  a  man  in  my  case,  but  there  is  small 
com  forte  in  lookiuge  at  ye  backe  of  a  white 
Satine  bonnett  for  two  Houres,  and  I  maye 
saye  as  much. — Neither  any  cheere  in  Her 
goiiige  out  of  ye  Churche,  &  Walkinge  downe 
ye  Avenue,  with  a  Puppe  by  ye  name  of  Will 
iamson. 

4th  Aprile. 

Because  a  man  have  a  Hatt  with  a  Brimme 
to  it  like  ye  Poope-Decke  of  a  Steam-Shippe, 
and  breeches  lyke  ye  Case  of  an  umbrella, 
and  have  loste  money  on  Hindoo,  he  is  not 
therefore  in  ye  beste  Societie. — I  made  this 
observation,  at  ye  Clubbe,  last  nighte,  in 


C  LOVE  IN  OLD   (J LOATHES 

ye  hearinge  of  Wmson,  who  made  a  mightie 
Pretence  to  reade  ye  Spfc  of  ye  Tymes. — I 
doubte  it  was  scurvie  of  me,  but  it  did  me 
muche  goode. 

7to  Aprile. 

Ye  manner  of  my  meetinge  with  Her  and 
fallinge  in  Love  with  Her  (for  ye  two  were  of 
one  date)  is  thus. — I  was  made  acquainte 
withe  Her  on  a  Wednesdaie,  at  y6  House  of 
Mistresse  Yarick,  ('twas  a  Reception,)  but 
did  not  hear  Her  Name,  nor  She  myne,  by 
reason  of  ye  noise,  and  of  Mrsse  Varick  having 
but  lately  a  newe  sett  of  Teethe,  of  wh.  she 
had  not  yet  gott,  as  it  were,  ye  just  Pitche 
and  accordance.  —  I  sayde  to  Her  that 
ye  Weather  was  warm  for  that  season  of 
ye  yeare. — She  made  answer  She  thought  I 
was  right,  for  Mr  Williamson  had  saide 
ye  same  thinge  to  Her  not  a  minute  past. — I 
tolde  Her  She  muste  not  holde  it  originall  or 
an  Invention  of  Wmson,  for  ye  Speache  had 
beene  manie  yeares  in  my  Familie. — Answer 
was  made,  She  wolde  be  muche  bounden  to 
me  if  I  wolde  maintaine  ye  Rightes  of  my 
Familie,  and  lett  all  others  from  usinge  of 
my  propertie,  when  perceivinge  Her  to  be  of 


LOVE  IN  OLD   C LOATHES  7 

a  livelie  "Witt,  I  went  about  to  ingage  her  in 
converse,  if  onlie  so  I  mightie  looke  into  Her 
Eyes,  wh.  were  of  a  coloure  suche  as  I  have 
never  seene  before,  more  like  to  a  Pansie,  or 
some  such  flower,  than  anything  else  I  can 
compair  with  them. — Shortlie  we  grew  most 
friendlie,  so  that  She  did  aske  me  if  I  colde 
keepe  a  Secrett. — I  answering  I  colde,  She 
saide  She  was  anhungered,  having  Shopp'd 
all  ye  forenoone  since  Breakfast. — She  pray'd 
me  to  gett  Her  some  Foode. — What,  I  ask'd. 
— She  answer'd  merrilie,  a  Beafesteake. — I 
tolde  Her  y*  that  Confection  was  not  on 
ye  Side-Boarde ;  but  I  presentlie  brought 
Her  such  as  there  was,  &  She  beinge  behinde 
a  Screane,  I  stoode  in  ye  waie,  so  y*  none 
mighte  see  Her,  &  She  did  eate  and  drynke 
as  folio  we  th,  to  witt  — 

iij  cupps  of  Bouillon  (wch  is  a  Tea,  or  Tis 
ane,  of  Beafe,  made  verie  hott  & 
thinne) 

iv  Alberte  biscuit 

ij  eclairs 
i  cream  e-cake 

together  with  divers  small  cates  and  comfeits 
whof  I  know  not  ye  names. 


8  LOVE  IN  OLD  C LOATHES 

So  yfc  I  was  grievously  afeared  for  Her 
Digestion,  leste  it  be  over-tax'd.  Saide  this 
to  Her,  however  addinge  it  was  my  Conceite, 
y*  by  some  Processe,  lyke  Alchemie,  whby  y6 
baser  metals  are  transmuted  into  golde,  so  ye 
grosse  mortall  foode  was  on  Her  lippes 
chang'd  to  ye  fabled  Nectar  &  Ambrosia 
of  ye  Gods. — She  tolde  me  't  was  a  sillie 
Speache,  yet  seam'd  not  ill-pleas'd  withall. — 
She  hath  a  verie  prettie  Fashion,  or  Tricke, 
of  smilinge,  when  She  hath  made  an  end  of 
speakinge,  and  layinge  Her  ringer  upon  Her 
nether  Lippe,  like  as  She  wolde  bid  it  be 
stille. — After  some  more  Talke,  whin  She 
show'd  that  Her  Witt  was  more  deepe,  and 
Her  minde  more  seriouslie  inclin'd,  than  I 
had  Thoughte  from  our  first  Jestinge,  She 
beinge  call'd  to  go  thence,  I  did  see  Her 
mother,  whose  face  I  knewe,  <fe  was  made 
sensible,  yfc  I  had  given  my  Hearte  to  ye 
daughter  of  a  House  wh.  with  myne  owne 
had  longe  been  at  grievous  Feud,  for  ye  folly 
of  oure  Auncestres. — Havinge  come  to  wh. 
heavie  momente  in  my  Tale,  I  have  no 
Patience  to  write  more  to-nighte. 


LOVE  IN  OLD  CLOATHES  9 


Aprile. 

I  was  mynded  to  write  no  more  in  ys  jour- 
nail,  for  verie  Shame's  sake,  yfc  I  shoude 
so  complayne,  lyke  a  Childe,  whose  toie  is 
taken  fm  him,  butt  (mayhapp  for  it  is  nowe 
ye  f  ulle  Moone,  &  a  moste  greavous  period  for 
them  yfc  are  Love-strucke)  I  am  fayne,  lyke  y6 
Drunkarde  who  maye  not  abstayne  fm  his 
cupp,  to  sett  me  anewe  to  recordinge  of  My 
Dolorous  mishapp.  —  When  I  sawe  Her  agayn, 
She  beinge  aware  of  my  name,  &  of  ye  divis 
ion  betwixt  oure  Houses,  wolde  have  none  of 
me,  butt  I  wolde  not  be  putt  Off,  &  made 
bolde  to  question  Her,  why  She  sholde  me 
suche  exceed^  Coldness.  —  She  answer'd  't  was 
wel  knowne  what  Wronge  my  Grandefather 
had  done  Her  G.father.  —  I  saide,  She  con 
founded  me  with  My  G.father  —  we  were  nott 
ye  same  Persone,  he  beinge  muche  my  Elder, 
&  besydes  Dead.  —  She  wd  have  it,  't  was  no 
matter  for  jestinge.  —  I  tolde  Her  I  wolde  be 
resolv'd,  what  grete  Wronge  yis  was.  —  Ye 
more  for  to  make  Speache  thn  for  mine  owue 
advertiser^,  for  I  knewe  wel  ye  whole  Knav- 
erie,  wh.  She  rehears'd,  Howe  my  G.father 
had  cheated  Her  G.father  of  Landes  upp  ye 
Biver,  with  more,  howe  my  G.father  had  im- 


10  LOVE  IN  OLD   CLOATHES 

pounded  ye  Cattle  of  Hern. — I  made  answer, 
't  was  foolisbnesse,  in  my  mynde,  for  ye  iiid 
Generation  to  so  quarrell  over  a  Parsel  of 
rascallie  Landes,  yl  had  long  ago  beene  solde 
for  Taxes,  y*  as  to  ye  Cowes,  I  wolde  make 
them  goode,  &  thr  Produce  &  Offspringe,  if  it 
tooke  ye  whole  Wash111  Markett.— She  how 
ever  tolde  me  y1  ye  Ffrenche  family  had 
ye  where  wal  to  buye  what  they  lack'd  in 
Butter,  Beafe  &  Milke,  and  likewise  in  Veale, 
wh.  laste  I  tooke  muche  to  Hearte,  wh.  She 
seeinge,  became  more  gracious  &,  on  my 
pleadinge,  accorded  yfc  I  sholde  have  ye  Priv 
ilege  to  speake  with  Her  when  we  next  met. 
— Butt  neyther  then,  nor  at  any  other  tyme 

Rafter  wolde  g^e  guffer  me  to  ^ft    JJer>        gQ 

I  was  harde  putt  to  it  to  compass  waies 
of  gettinge  to  see  Her  at  such  Houses  as  She 
might e  be  att,  for  Bouts  or  Feasts,  or  ye 
lyke.- 

But  though  I  sawe  Her  manie  tymes,  ouro 
converse  was  ever  of  yis  Complex11,  &  ye  ac 
cursed  G.father  satt  downe,  and  rose  upp 
with  us. — Yet  colde  I  see  by  Her  aspecte,  y* 
I  had  in  some  sorte  Her  favoure,  &  y11 1  mis- 
lyk'd  Her  not  so  gretelie  as  She  wd  have  me 
thinke. — So  y*  one  daie,  ('t  was  in  Januarie, 


LOVE  IN  OLD   ULOATHES  11 

&  verie  colde,)  I,  beinge  moste  distrackt, 
saide  to  Her,  I  had  tho't  'twolde  pleasure 
Her  more,  to  be  friends  w.  a  man,  who  had  a 
knave  for  a  G.father,  yn  with  One  who  had  no 
G.father  att  alle,  lyke  Wmson  (ye  Puppe).— 
She  made  answer,  I  was  exceedinge  fresshe,  or 
some  such  matter.  She  cloath'd  her  thoughte 
in  phrase  more  befittinge  a  Gentlewoman. — 
Att  this  I  colde  no  longer  contayne  my 
self,  but  tolde  Her  roundlie,  I  lov'd  Her,  &  't 
was  my  Love  made  me  soe  umnannerlie. — 
And  w.  yis  speache  I  att  ye  leaste  made 
an  End  of  my  Uncertantie,  for  She  bade  me 
speake  w.  Her  no  more. — I  wolde  be  deter- 
min'd,  whether  I  was  Naught  to  Her. — She 
made  Answer  She  colde  not  justlie  say  I  was 
Naught,  seeing  yfc  whever  She  mighte  bee,  I  was 
One  too  manie. — I  saide,  't  was  some  Com- 
forte,  I  had  even  a  Place  in  Her  thoughtes, 
were  it  onlie  in  Her  disfavour. — She  saide, 
my  Solace  was  indeede  grete,  if  it  kept  pace 
with  ye  measure  of  Her  Disfavour,  for,  in 
plain  Terms,  She  hated  me,  &  on  her  intreat- 
inge  of  me  to  goe,  I  went. — Yis  happ'd  att  ye 
house  of  Mrss  Yaricke,  wh.  I  Ist  met  Her,  who 
(Mrs8  Varicke)  was  for  staying  me,  y*  I  might 
eate  some  Ic'd  Cream,  butt  of  a  Truth  I  was 


12  LOVE  IN  OLD  C  LOATHES 

cliill'd  to  my  Taste  allreadie.  —  Albeit  I  after 
wards  tooke  to  walkinge  of  ye  Streets  till 
near  Midnight.  —  'Twas  as  I  saide  before  in 
Januarie  &  exceedinge  colde. 


20th 

How  wearie  is  yls  dulle  procession  of  ye 
Yeare  !  For  it  irketh  my  Soule  y*  each 
Monthe  shoude  come  so  aptlie  after  ye  Month 
afore,  &  Nature  looke  so  Smug,  as  She  had 
done  some  grete  thinge.  —  Surelie  if  she  make 
no  Change,  she  hath  work'd  no  Miracle, 
for  we  knowe  wel,  what  we  mayo  look  for.— 
Ye  Yine  under  my  Window  hath  broughte 
forth  Purple  Blossoms,  as  itt  hath  eache 
Springe  these  xii  Yeares.  —  I  wolde  have  had 
them  Redd,  or  Blue,  or  I  knowe  not  what 
Coloure,  for  I  am  sicke  of  likinge  of  Purple  a 
Dozen  Springes  in  Order.  —  And  wh.  moste 
galls  me  is  yi3,  1  knowe  howe  yis  sadd  Eounde 
will  goe  on,  &  Maie  give  Place  to  June, 
&  she  to  July,  &  onlie  my  Hearte  blossom  not 
nor  my  Love  growe  no  greener. 

2nd  June. 

I  and  my  Foolishnesse,  we  laye  Awake  last 
night  till  ye  Sunrise  gun,  wh.  was  Shott  att 
4^  o'ck,  &  wh.  beinge  hearde  in  yfc  stillnesse 


LOVE  IN  OLD  CLOATHE8  13 

fm.  an  Incredible  Distance,  seem'd  lyke  as 
'twere  a  Full  Stopp,  or  Period  putt  to  yi3 
Wakinge-Dreminge,  what  I  did  turne  a  newe 
Leafe  in  my  Counsells,  and  after  much  Medi 
tation,  have  commenc't  a  newe  Chapter,  wh. 
I  hope  maye  leade  to  a  better  Conclusion, 
than  them  y*  came  afore. — For  I  am  nowe 
resolv'd,  &  havinge  begunn  \vil  carry  to  an 
Ende,  y*  if  I  maie  not  over-come  my  Passion, 
I  maye  at  ye  least  over-corn  ye  Melanchollie, 
&  Spleene,  borne  y°£,  &  beinge  a  Lover,  be 
none  y6  lesse  a  Man. — To  wh.  Ende  I  have 
come  to  yi8  Resolution,  to  depart  fm.  ye  Towne, 
&  to  goe  to  ye  Countrie-House  of  my  Frend, 
Will  Winthrop,  who  has  often  intreated  me, 
&  has  instantly  urg'd,  y*  I  sholde  make  him  a 
Visitt. — And  I  take  much  Shame  to  myself e, 
yfc  I  have  not  given  him  yis  Satisfaction  since 
he  was  married,  wh.  is  nowe  ii  Yeares. — A 
goode  Fellowe,  &  I  minde  me  a  grete  Burden 
to  his  Frends  when  he  was  in  Love,  in  wh. 
Plight  I  mockt  him,  who  am  nowe,  I  much 
feare  me,  mockt  myselfe. 

3*"<i  June. 

Pack'd  my  cloathes,  beinge  Sundaye.     Ye 
better  yc  Daie,  j°  better  ye  Deede. 


14  LOVE  IN  OLD  CLOATIIES 

4<ft  June. 
Goe  downe  to  Babylon  to-daye. 

6th  Jung. 

Att  ^Babylon,  att  ye  Cottage  of  Will  Win- 
tlirop,  wli.  is  no  Cottage,  but  a  grete  House, 
Bed,  w.  Verandahs,  &  builded  in  ye  Fashn  of 
Her  Maiestie  Q.  Anne. — Found  a  mighty 
Housefull  of  People. — Will,  his  Wife,  a  verie 
proper  fayre  Ladie,  who  gave  me  moste 
gracious  Reception,  Mrss  Smithe,  ye  ii  Gresham 
girles  (knowne  as  ye  Titteringe  Twins),  Bob 
White,  Virginia  Kinge  &  her  Mothr,  Clarence 
Winthrop,  &  ye  whole  Alexander  Family. — 
A  grete  Gatheringe  for  so  earlie  in  ye  Sum 
mer. — In  ye  Afternooue  play'd  Lawne-Ten- 
niss. — Had  for  Partner  one  of  ye  Twinns, 
agst  Clarence  Winthrop  &  ye  other  Twinn,  wh. 
by  beinge  Confus'd,  I  loste  iii  games. — Was 
voted  a  Duffer. — Clarence  Winthrop  moste 
unmannerlie  merrie. — He  call'd  me  ye  Sad- 
Ey'd  Borneo,  &  lykewise  cut  down  ye  Ham- 
mocke  whin  I  laye,  allso  tied  up  my  Cloathes 
wh.  we  were  att  Bath. — He  sayde,  he  Chaw'd 
them,  a  moste  barbarous  worde  for  a  moste 
barbarous  Use. — Wh.  we  were  Boyes,  &  he 
did  yis  thinge,  I  was  wont  to  trounce  him 


LOVE  IN  OLD   CLOATHES  15 

Sotincllie,  but  nowe  had  to  contente  Myselfe 
w.  beatinge  of  him  iii  games  of  Billyardes  in 
ye  Evg.,  &  w.  daringe  of  him  to  putt  on  ye 
Gloves  w.  me,  for  Funne,  wh.  he  mighte  not 
doe,  for  I  coude  knocke  him  colde. 

10«fr  June. 

Beinge  gon  to  my  Eoome  somewhatt  earlie, 
for  I  found  my  self  e  of  a  peevish  humour, 
Clarence  came  to  me,  and  prayd  a  few  min 
utes'  Speache. — Sayde  't  was  Love  made  him 
so  Rude  &  Boysterous,  he  was  privilie 
betroth'd  to  his  Cozen,  Angelica  Eobertes, 
she  whose  Father  lives  at  Islipp,  &  colde  not 
containe  Himselfe  for  Joye. — I  sayinge,  there 
was  a  Breache  in  ye  Familie,  he  made  Answer, 
't  was  true,  her  Father  &  His,  beinge  Cozens, 
did  hate  each  other  moste  heartilie,  butt  for 
him  he  cared  not  for  that,  &  for  Angelica, 
She  gave  not  a  Continental!. — But,  sayde  I, 
Your  Consideration  matters  mightie  Little, 
synce  ye  Governours  will  notheare  to  it. — He 
answered  't  was  for  that  he  came  to  me,  I 
must  be  his  allie,  for  reason  of  cure  olde 
Friendsp.  With  that  I  had  no  Hearte  to 
heare  more,  he  made  so  Light  of  suche  a 
Division  as  parted  me  &  my  Happinesse, 


16  LOVE  IN  OLD  CLOATIIES 

but  tolde  him  I  was  his  Trend,  wolde  serve 
him  when  he  had  Neede  of  me,  &  presentlie 
seeing  my  Humour,  he  made  excuse  to  goe, 
&  left  me  to  write  downe  this,  sicke  in  Mynde, 
and  thinkinge  ever  of  y°  Woman  who  wil  not 
oute  of  my  Thoughtes  for  any  change  of  Place, 
neither  of  employe. — For  indeede  I  doe  love 
Her  moste  heartilie,  so  yfc  my  Wordes  can 
not  saye  it,  nor  will  yis  Booke  containe  it. — 
So  I  wil  even  goe  to  Sleepe,  y*  in  my  Dreames 
perch aunce  my  Fancie  maye  do  my  Hearto 
better  Service. 

12th  junc. 

She  is  here.— What  Spyte  is  yis  of  Fate  & 
ye  alter'd  gods !  That  I,  who  mighte  nott 
gett  to  see  Her  when  to  See  was  to  Hope, 
muste  nowe  daylie  have  Her  in  my  Sight, 
stucke  lyke  a  fayre  Apple  under  olde  Tan 
talus  his  Nose. — Goinge  downe  to  ye  Hotell 
to-day,  for  to  gett  me  some  Tobackoe,  was 
made  aware  yfc  ye  Ffrench  familie  had  hyred 
one  of  y6  Cottages  round-abouts.  —  'T  is  a 
goodlie  Dwellinge  Without — Would  I  coude 
speake  with  as  much  Assurance  of  ye  Inn- 
sydel 


LOVE  IN  OLD  CLOATHES  17 

13th  June. 

Goinge  downe  to  ye  Hotell  againe  To-day 
for  more  Tobackoe,  sawe  ye  accursed  name  of 
Wmson  on  y6  Kegistre.— Went  about  to  a 
neigliboringe  Farm  &  satt  me  downe  behynd 
y*  Barne,  for  a  £  an  Houre. — Frighted  ye 
Horned  Cattle  w.  talkinge  to  My  Selfe. 

15*  June. 

I  wil  make  an  Ende  to  yis  Businesse. — Wil 
make  no  onger  Staye  here. — Sawe  Her  to 
day,  driven  Home  fin.  ye  Beache,  about  4£  of 
ye  After-noone,  by  Wmson  in  his  Dogge- 
Carte,  wh.  y6  Cadde  has  broughten  here. — 
Wil  betake  me  to  ye  Boundlesse  Weste — Not 
yt  I  care  aught  for  ye  Boundlesse  Weste,  butt 
yfc  I  shal  doe  wel  if  haplie  I  leave  my  Memou- 
rie  amg  ye  Apaches  &  bringe  Home  my  Scalpe. 

16th  June. 

To  Fyre  Islande,  in  Winthrop's  Yacht— ye 
Twinnes  w.  us,  so  Titteringe  &  Choppinge 
Laughter,  y*  't  was  worse  yn  a  Flocke  of  Sand 
pipers. — Found  a  grete  Concourse  of  people 
there,  Her  amonge  them,  in  a  Suite  of  blue, 
y*  became  Her  bravelie. — She  swimms  lyke 
to  a  Fishe,  butt  everie  Stroke  of  Her  white 

2 


18  LOVE  IN  OLD  CLOATHES 

Arms  (of  a  lovelie  Roundnesse)  cleft,  as  't 
were  my  Hearte,  rather  yn  ye  Water. — She 
bow'd  to  me,  on  goinge  intoye  Water,  w.  muche 
Dignitie,  &  agayn  on  Cominge  out,  but  yia 
Tyme  w.  lesse  Dignitie,  by  reason  of  yc  Water 
in  Her  Cloathes,  &  Her  Haire  in  Her  Eyes. — 

17«i  June. 

Was  for  goinge  awaie  To-morrow,  but  Clar 
ence  cominge  againe  to  my  Chamber,  & 
mightilie  purswadinge  of  me,  I  feare  I  am 
comitted  to  a  verie  sillie  Undertakinge. — For 
I  am  promis'd  to  Help  him  secretlie  to  wedd 
his  Cozen. — He  wolde  take  no  Deniall,  wolde 
have  it,  his  Brother  car'd  Naughte,  't  was  but 
ye  Fighte  of  theyre  Fathers,  he  was  bounde 
it  sholde  be  done,  &  't  were  best  I  stoode  his 
Witnesse,  who  was  wel  lyked  of  bothe  ye 
Braunches  of  ye  Family. — So  't  was  agree'd, 
yfc  I  shal  staye  Home  to-morrowe  fm.  ye  Ex 
pedition  to  Fyre  Islande,  feigning  a  Head- 
Ache,  (wh.  indeede  I  meante  to  do,  in  any 
Happ,  for  I  cannot  see  Her  againe,)  &  shall 
meet  him  at  ye  little  Churche  on  ye  Southe 
Eoade.  —  He  to  drive  to  Islipp  to  fetch 
Angelica,  lykewise  her  Witnesse,  who  sholde 
be  some  One  of  ye  Girles,  she  hadd  not  yet 


LOVE  IN  OLD  CLOATHE8  19 

made  her  Choice. — I  made  y18  Condition,  it 
sholde  not  be  either  of  ye  Twinnes. — No,  nor 
Bothe,  for  that  matter. — Inquiringe  as  to  ye 
Clergyman,  he  sayde  ye  Dominie  was  allreadie 
Squar'd. 

NEWE  YORK,  YE  BUCKINGHAM  HOTELL,  19th  June. 

I  am  come  to  ye  laste  Entrie  I  shall  ever 
putt  downe  in  ys  Booke,  and  needes  must  yfc 
I  putt  it  downe  quicklie,  for  all  hath  Happ'd 
in  so  short  a  Space,  y*  my  Heade  whirles  w. 
thynkinge  of  it.  Ye  after-noone  of  Yester- 
daye,  I  set  about  Counterfeittinge  of  a  Head- 
Ache,  &  so  wel  did  I  compasse  it,  yfc  I  verilie 
thinke  one  of  ye  Twinnes  was  mynded  to 
Stay  Home  &  nurse  me. — All  havinge  gone 
off,  &  Clarence  on  his  waye  to  Islipp,  I  sett 
forth  for  y6  Churche,  where  arriv'd  I  founde 
it  emptie,  w.  ye  Door  open.  —  Went  in  & 
writh'd  on  ye  hard  Benches  a  J  of  an  Houre, 
when,  hearinge  a  Sounde,  I  look'd  up  & 
saw  standinge  in  ye  Door- waye,  Katherine 
Ffrench.  —  She  seem'd  muche  astonished, 
saying  You  Here !  or  ye  lyke. — I  made  An 
swer  &  sayde  yfc  though  my  Familie  were 
greate  Sinners,  yet  had  they  never  been 
Excommunicate  by  ye  Churche. — She  sayde, 


20  LOVE  IN  OLD   CLOATHE8 

they  colde  not  Putt  Out  what  never  was  in. 
— While  I  was  bethynkinge  me  wh.  I  niighto 
answer  to  yis,  she  went  on,  sayinge  I  must  ex 
cuse  Her,  She  wolde  goe  upp  in  ye  Organ- 
Lof te. — I  enquiring  what  for  ?  She  sayde  to 
practice  on  ye  Organ.  —  She  turn'd  verie 
Redd,  of  a  warm  Coloure,  as  She  sayde  this. 
—I  ask'd  Do  you  come  hither  often  ?  She 
replyinge  Yes,  I  enquir'd  how  ye  Organ  lyked 
Her. — She  sayde  Right  well,  when  I  made 
question  more  curiously  (for  She  grew  more 
Redd  eache  moment)  how  was  ye  Action?  ye 
Tone?  how  manie  Stopps?  What  She  grow- 
inge  gretelie  Confus'cl,  I  led  Her  into  ye 
Churche,  &  show'd  Her  yfc  there  was  no  Or 
gan,  y*  Choire  beinge  indeede  a  Band,  of  i 
Tuninge-Forke,  i  Kitt,  &  i  Horse-Fiddle. — At 
this  She  fell  to  Smilinge  <fe  Blushinge  att  one 
Tyme. — She  perceiv'd  our  Errandes  were  ye 
Same  &  crav'd  Pardon  for  Her  Fibb. — I 
tolde  Her,  If  She  came  Thither  to  be  Wit 
ness  at  her  Frend's  Weddinge,  'twas  no  greate 
Fibb,  'twolde  indeede  be  Practice  for  Her. — • 
This  havinge  a  rude  Sound,  I  added  I  thankt 
y°  Starrs  yt  had  bro't  us  Together.  She  sayde 
if  ye  Starrs  appoint'd  us  to  meete  no  oftener 
yn  this  Couple  shoude  be  Wedded,  She  was 


LOVE  IN  OLD   C LOATHES  21 

wel  content.  This  cominge  on  me  lyke  a  last 
Buffett  of  Fate,  that  She  shoude  so  despite- 
fully  intreat  me,  I  was  suddenlie  Seized  with 
so  Sorrie  a  Humour,  &  withal  so  angrie,  yt  I 
colde  scarce  Containe  myselfe,  but  went  & 
Sat  downe  neare  ye  Doore,  lookinge  out  till 
Clarence  slid,  come  w.  his  Bride. — Looking 
over  my  Sholder,  I  sawe  yfc  She  wente  fm. 
Windowe  to  "Window©  within,  Pluckinge  ye 
Blossoms  f  m.  ye  Yines,  &  settinge  them  in  her 
Girdle. — She  seem'd  most  tall  and  faire,  & 
swete  to  look  uponn,  &  itt  Anger'd  me  ye 
More. — Meanwhiles,  She  discours'd  pleasant- 
lie,  asking  me  manie  questions,  to  the  wh.  I 
gave  but  shorte  and  churlish  answers.  She 
ask'd  Did  I  nott  Knowe  Angelica  Eoberts  was 
Her  best  Frend?  How  longe  had  I  knowne 
of  ye  Betrothal?  Did  I  thinke  'twolde  knitt 
ye  House  together,  &  Was  it  not  Sad  to  see  a 
Familie  thus  Divided? — I  answer'd  Her,  I 
wd.  not  robb  a  Man  of  ye  precious  Kighte  to 
Quarrell  with  his  Eolations. — And  then,  with 
meditatinge  on  ye  goode  Lucke  of  Clarence, 
<fc  my  owne  harde  Case,  I  had  suche  a  sud 
den  Rage  of  peevishness  yfc  I  knewe  scarcelie 
what  I  did.  Soe  when  she  ask'd  me  merrilie 
why  I  turn'd  my  Backe  on  Her,  I  made 


22  LOVE  IN  OLD   CLOATHES 

Reply  I  bad  turn'd  my  Backe  on  much 
Follie.  —  Wh.  was  no  sooner  oute  of  my 
Mouthe  than  I  was  mightilie  Sorrie  for  it, 
and  turninge  aboute,  I  perceiv'd  She  was  in 
Teares  &  weepinge  bitterlie.  What  my  Hearte 
wolde  hold©  no  More,  &  I  rose  upp  &  tooke 
Her  in  my  arms  &  Kiss'd  &  Comforted  Her, 
She  makinge  no  Denyal,  but  seeminge  great- 
lie  to  Neede  such  Solace,  wh.  I  was  not 
Loathe  to  give  Her. — Whiles  we  were  at 
This,  onlie  She  had  gott  to  Smilinge,  &  to 
sayinge  of  Things  which  even  y1*  paper  shal 
not  knowe,  came  in  ye  Dominie,  sayinge 
He  judg'd  We  were  the  Couple  he  came 
to  Wed.— With  him  ye  Sexton  &  ye  Sexton's 
Wife.  —  My  swete  Kate,  alle  as  rosey  as 
Venus's  Nape,  was  for  Denyinge  of  yis,  butt  I 
wolde  not  have  it,  &  sayde  Yes. — She  remon 
strating  w.  me,  privilie,  I  tolde  Her  She  must 
not  make  me  Out  a  Liar,  yfc  to  Deceave  y6 
Man  of  God  were  a  greavous  Sinn,  y1 1  had 
gott  Her  nowe,  &  wd.  not  lett  her  Slipp 
from  me,  &  did  soe  Talke  Her  Downe,  &  w. 
such  Strengthe  of  joie,  y1  allmost  before  She 
knewe  it,  we  Stoode  upp,  &  were  Wed,  w.  a 
Ringe  (tho'  She  Knewe  it  nott)  wh.  beloug'd 
to  My  G  father.  (Him  y1  Cheated  Her".)— 


LOVE  IN  OLD   CLOATHES  23 

Wli  was  no  sooner  done,  than  in  came 
Clarence  &  Angelica,  &  were  Wedded  in 
theyre  Turn. — The  Clergyman  greatelie  sur 
prised,  but  more  att  ye  Largeness  of  his  Fee. 

This  Businesse  being  Ended,  we  fled  by  ye 
Trayne  of  4£  o'cke,  to  yis  Place,  where  we 
wait  till  ye  Bloode  of  all  ye  Ffrenches  have 
Tyme  to  coole  downe,  for  ye  wise  Mann  who 
meeteth  his  Mother  in  Lawe  ye  Ist  tyme,  wil 
meete  her  when  she  is  Milde. — 

And  so  I  close  yis  Journall,  wh.,  tho'  for  ye 
moste  Parte  'tis  but  a  peevish  Scrawle,  hath 
one  Page  of  Golde,  whon  I  have  writt  ye  laste 
strange  Happ  whby  I  have  layd  Williamson 
by  y8  Heeles  &  found  me  ye  sweetest  Wife  yt 
ever 

stopp'd  a  man's  Mouthe  w.  kisses  for 
writinge  of  Her  Prayses. 


A    LETTER 
AND   A   PARAGRAPH 


A    LETTER 
AND   A   PARAGRAPH 


THE  LETTER 

NEW  YORK,  Nov.  16,  1883. 

MY  DEAE  WILL: — 

You  cannot  be  expected  to  remember  it, 
but  this  is  the  fifth  anniversary  of  my  wed 
ding-day,  and  to-morrow — it  will  be  to-mor 
row  before  this  letter  is  closed — is  my  birth 
day — my  fortieth.  My  head  is  full  of  those 
thoughts  which  the  habit  of  my  life  moves 
me  to  put  on  paper,  where  I  can  best  express 
them ;  and  yet  which  must  be  written  for 
only  the  friendliest  of  eyes.  It  is  not  the 
least  of  my  happiness  in  this  life  that  I  have 
one  friend  to  whom  I  can  unlock  my  heart  as 
I  can  to  you. 

The  wife  has  just  been  putting  your  name- 


28        A  LETTER  AND  A  PARAGRAPH 

sake  to  sleep.  Don't  infer  that,  even  on  the 
occasion  of  this  family  feast,  he  has  been 
allowed  to  sit  up  until  half  past  eleven.  He 
went  to  bed  properly  enough,  with  a  tear  or 
two,  at  eight ;  but  when  his  mother  stole  into 
his  room  just  now,  after  her  custom,  I  heard 
his  small  voice  raised  in  drowsy  inquiry ; 
and  I  followed  her,  and  slipped  the  curtain  of 
the  doorway  aside,  and  looked.  But  I  did 
not  go  into  the  room. 

The  shaded  lamp  was  making  a  yellow 
glory  in  one  spot — the  head  of  the  little  brass 
crib  where  my  wife  knelt  by  my  boy.  I  saw 
the  little  face,  so  like  hers,  turned  up  to  her. 
There  was  a  smile  on  it  that  I  knew  was  a 
reflection  of  hers.  He  was  winking  in  a 
merry  half-attempt  to  keep  awake  ;  but  wake- 
fulness  was  slipping  away  from  him  under 
the  charm  of  that  smile  that  I  could  not  see. 
His  brown  eyes  closed,  and  opened  for  an 
instant,  and  closed  again  as  the  tender, 
happy  hush  of  a  child's  sleep  settled  down 
upon  him,  and  he  was  gone  where  we  in  our 
heavier  slumbers  shall  hardly  follow  him. 
Then,  before  I  could  see  my  wife's  face  as 
she  bent  and  kissed  him,  I  let  the  curtain 
fall,  and  crept  back  here,  to  sit  by  the  last 


A  LETTER  AND  A  PARAGRAPH       29 

of  the  fire,  and  see  that  sacred  sight  again 
with  the  spiritual  eyes,  and  to  dream  won- 
deringly  over  the  unspeakable  happiness  that 
has  in  some  mysterious  way  come  to  me,  un 
deserving. 

I  tell  you,  "Will,  that  moment  was  to  me 
like  one  of  those  moments  of  waking  that 
we  know  in  childhood,  when  we  catch  the 
going  of  a  dream  too  subtly  sweet  to  belong 
to  this  earth — a  glad  vision,  gone  before  our 
eyes  can  open  wide ;  not  to  be  figured  into 
any  earthly  idea,  leaving  in  its  passage  a  joy 
so  high  and  fine  that  the  poets  tell  us  it  is 
a  memory  of  some  heaven  from  which  our 
young  souls  are  yet  fresh. 

You  can  understand  how  it  is  that  I  find  it 
hard  to  realize  that  there  can  be  such  things 
in  my  life ;  for  you  know  what  that  life  was 
up  to  a  few  years  ago.  I  am  like  a  man  who 
has  spent  his  first  thirty  years  in  a  cave.  It 
takes  more  than  a  decade  above  ground  to 
make  him  quite  believe  in  the  sun  and  the 
blue  of  the  sky. 

I  was  sitting  just  now  before  the  hearth, 
with  my  feet  in  the  bearskin  rug  you  sent  us 
two  Christmases  ago.  The  light  of  the  low 
wood  fire  was  chasing  the  shadows  around 


30       A  LETTER  AND  A  PARAGRAPH 

the  room,  over  my  books  and  my  pictures, 
and  all  the  fine  and  gracious  luxuries  with 
which  I  may  now  make  my  eyes  and  my 
heart  glad,  and  pamper  the  tastes  that  grow 
with  feeding.  I  was  taking  count,  so  to 
speak,  of  my  prosperity — the  material  treas 
ures,  the  better  treasure  that  I  find  in  such 
portion  of  fame  as  the  world  has  allotted  me, 
and  the  treasure  of  treasures  across  the  thresh 
old  of  the  next  room — in  the  next  room  ?  No 
—there,  here,  in  every  room,  in  every  corner 
of  the  house,  filling  it  with  peace,  is  the  gen 
tle  and  holy  spirit  of  love. 

As  I  sat  and  thought,  my  mind  went  back 
to  the  day  that  you  and  I  first  met,  twenty- 
two  years  ago — twenty-two  in  February  next. 
In  twenty-two  years  more  I  could  not  forget 
that  hideous  first  day  in  the  city  room  of  the 
Morning  Record.  I  can  see  the  great  gloomy 
room,  with  its  meagre  gas-jets  lighting  up, 
here  and  there,  a  pale  face  at  a  desk,  and 
bringing  out  in  ghastly  spots  the  ugliness  of 
the  ink-smeared  walls.  A  winter  rain  was 
pouring  down  outside.  I  could  feel  its  chill 
and  damp  in  the  room,  though  little  of  it  was 
to  be  seen  through  the  grimy  window-panes. 
The  composing-room  in  the  rear  sent  a  smell 


A  LETTER  AND  A  PARAGRAPH       31 

of  ink  and  benzine  to  permeate  the  moist 
atmosphere.  The  rumble  and  shiver  of  the 
great  presses  printing  the  weekly  came  up 
from  below.  I  sat  there  in  my  wet  clothes 
and  waited  for  my  first  assignment.  I  was 
eighteen,  poor  as  a  church  mouse,  green,  des 
perately  hopeful  after  a  boy's  fashion,  and 
with  nothing  in  my  head  but  the  Latin  and 
Greek  of  my  one  single  year  at  college.  My 
spirit  had  sunk  down  far  out  of  sight.  My 
heart  beat  nervously  at  every  sound  of  that 
awful  city  editor's  voice,  as  he  called  up  his 
soldiers  one  by  one  and  assigned  them  to  duty. 
I  could  only  silently  pray  that  he  would  "  give 
me  an  easy  one,"  and  that  I  should  not  disgrace 
myself  in  the  doing  of  it.  By  Jove,  Will,  what 
an  old  martinet  Baldwin  was,  for  all  his  good 
heart !  Do  you  remember  that  sharp,  crack 
ling  voice  of  his,  and  the  awful  "  Be  brief !  be 
brief !  "  that  always  drove  all  capacity  for 
condensation  out  of  a  man's  head,  and  set  him 
to  stammering  out  his  story  with  wordy  inco 
herence.  Baldwin  is  on  the  Record  still.  I 
wonder  what  poor  devil  is  trembling  at  this 
hour  under  that  disconcerting  adjuration. 

A  wretched   day   that   was !      The   hours 
went  slow  as  grief.     Smeary  little  bare-armed 


32        A  LETTER  AND  A  PARAGRAPH 

fiends  trotted  in  from  the  composing-room 
and  out  again,  bearing  fluttering  galley- 
proofs.  Bedraggled,  hollow-eyed  men  came 
in  from  the  streets  and  set  their  soaked  um 
brellas  to  steam  against  the  heater,  and 
passed  into  the  lion's  den  to  feed  him  with 
news,  and  were  sent  out  again  to  take  up 
their  half-cooked  umbrellas  and  go  forth  to 
forage  for  more.  Everyone,  I  thought,  gave 
me  one  brief  glance  of  contempt  and  curi 
osity,  and  put  me  out  of  his  thoughts.  Ev 
eryone  had  some  business — everyone  but  me. 
The  men  who  had  been  waiting  with  me  were 
called  up  one  by  one  and  detailed  to  work.  I 
was  left  alone. 

Then  a  new  horror  came  to  torture  my  ner 
vously  active  imagination.  Had  my  superior 
officer  forgotten  his  new  recruit  ?  Or  could 
he  find  no  task  mean  enough  for  my  powers  ? 
This  filled  me  at  first  with  a  sinking  shame, 
and  then  with  a  hot  rage  and  sense  of  wrong. 
"Why  should  he  thus  slight  me  ?  Had  I  not 
a  right  to  be  tried,  at  least  ?  Was  there  any 
duty  he  could  find  that  I  would  not  perform 
or  die  ?  I  would  go  to  him  and  tell  him  that 
I  had  come  there  to  work  ;  and  would  make 
him  give  me  the  work.  No,  I  should  simply 


A  LETTER  AND  A  PARAGRAPH       33 

be  snubbed,  and  sent  to  my  seat  like  a  school 
boy,  or  perhaps  discharged  on  the  spot.  I 
must  bear  my  humiliation  in  silence. 

I  looked  up  and  saw  you  entering,  with 
your  bright,  ruddy  boy's  face  shining  with 
wet,  beaming  a  greeting  to  all  the  room.  In 
my  soul  I  cursed  you,  at  a  venture,  for  your 
lightheartedness  and  your  look  of  cheery  self- 
confidence.  What  a  vast  stretch  of  struggle 
and  success  set  you  above  me — you,  the  re 
porter,  above  me,  the  novice !  And  just  then 
came  the  awful  summons — "  Barclay !  Bar 
clay  !  " — I  shall  hear  that  strident  note  at  the 
judgment  day.  I  went  in  and  got  my  orders, 
and  came  out  with  them,  all  in  a  sort  of  daze 
that  must  have  made  Baldwin  think  me  an 
idiot.  And  then  you  came  up  to  me  and 
scraped  acquaintance  in  a  desultory  way,  to 
hide  your  kind  intent ;  and  gave  me  a  hint 
or  two  as  to  how  to  obtain  a  full  account  of 
the  biennial  meeting  of  the  Post-Pliocene 
Mineralogical  Society,  or  whatever  it  was, 
without  diving  too  deeply  into  the  Post-Pli 
ocene  period.  I  would  have  fought  for  you 
to  the  death,  at  that  moment. 

'Twas  a  small  matter,  but  the  friendship 
begun  in  manly  and  helpful  kindness  has 

3 


34:        A  LETTER  AND  A  PARAGRAPH 

gone  on  for  twenty-two  years  in  mutual  faith 
and  loyalty ;  and  the  growth  dignifies  the  seed. 

A  sturdy  growth  it  was  in  its  sapling  days. 
It  was  in  the  late  spring  that  we  decided  to 
take  the  room  together  in  St.  Mark's  Place. 
A  big  room  and  a  poor  room,  indeed,  on  the 
third  story  of  that  "battered  caravanserai," 
and  for  twelve  long  years  it  held  us  and  our 
hopes  and  our  despairs  and  our  troubles  and 
our  joys. 

I  don't  think  I  have  forgotten  one  detail  of 
that  room.  There  is  the  generous  old  fire 
place,  insultingly  bricked  up  by  modern  pov 
erty,  all  save  the  meagre  niche  that  holds  our 
fire — when  we  can  have  a  fire.  There  is  the 
great  second-hand  table — our  first  purchase 
— where  we  sit  and  work  for  immortality  in 
the  scant  intervals  of  working  for  life.  Your 
drawer,  with  the  manuscript  of  your  "  Con 
cordance  of  Political  Economy,"  is  to  the 
right.  Mine  is  to  the  left ;  it  holds  the  un 
finished  play,  and  the  poems  that  might  bet 
ter  have  been  unfinished.  There  are  the  two 
narrow  cots — yours  to  the  left  of  the  door  as 
you  enter ;  mine  to  the  right. 

How  strange  that  I  can  see  it  all  so  clear 
ly,  now  that  all  is  different ! 


A  LETTER  AND  A  PARAGRAPH       35 

Yet  I  can  remember  myself  coming  home 
at  one  o'clock  at  night,  dragging  my  tired  feet 
up  those  dark,  still,  tortuous  stairs,  gripping 
the  shaky  baluster  for  aid.  I  open  the  door 
— I  can  feel  the  little  old-fashioned  brass 
knob  in  my  palm  even  now — and  I  look  to 
the  left.  Ah,  you  are  already  at  home  and  in 
bed.  I  need  not  look  toward  the  table. 
There  is  money — a  little — in  the  common 
treasury ;  and,  in  accordance  with  our  regular 
compact,  I  know  there  stand  on  that  table 
twin  bottles  of  beer,  half  a  loaf  of  rye  bread, 
and  a  double  palm's-breadth  of  Swiss  cheese. 
You  are  staying  your  hunger  in  sleep;  for 
one  may  not  eat  until  the  other  comes.  I 
will  wake  you  up,  and  we  shall  feast  together 
and  talk  over  the  day  that  is  dead  and  the 
day  that  is  begun. 

Strange,  is  it  not,  that  I  should  have  some 
trouble  to  realize  that  this  is  only  a  memory, 
— I,  with  my  feet  in  the  bearskin  rug  that  it 
would  have  beggared  the  two  of  us,  or  a 
dozen  like  us,  to  purchase  in  those  days. 
Strange  that  my  mind  should  be  wandering 
on  the  crude  work  of  my  boyhood  and  my 
early  manhood.  I  who  have  won  name  and 
fame,  as  the  world  would  say.  I,  to  whom 


36        A  LETTER  AND  A  PARAGRAPH 

young  men  come  for  advice  and  encourage 
ment,  as  to  a  tried  veteran  !  Strange  that  I 
should  be  thinking  of  a  time  when  even  your 
true  and  tireless  friendship  could  not  quench 
a  subtle  hunger  at  my  heart,  a  hunger  for  a 
more  dear  and  intimate  comradeship.  I,  with 
the  tenderest  of  wives  scarce  out  of  my  sight ; 
even  in  her  sleep  she  is  no  further  from  me 
than  my  own  soul. 

Strangest  of  all  this,  that  the  mad  agony  of 
grief,  the  passion  of  desolation  that  came 
upon  me  when  our  long  partnership  was  dis 
solved  for  ever,  should  now  be  nothing  but  a 
memory,  like  other  memories,  to  be  sum 
moned  up  out  of  the  resting-places  of  the 
mind,  toyed  with,  idly  questioned,  and  dis 
missed  with  a  sigh  and  a  smile!  "What  a 
real  thing  it  was  just  ten  years  ago ;  what  a 
very  present  pain  !  Believe  me,  Will, — yes, 
I  want  you  to  believe  this — that  in  those  first 
hours  of  loneliness  I  could  have  welcomed 
death ;  death  would  have  fallen  upon  me  as 
calmly  as  sleep  has  fallen  upon  my  boy  in 
the  room  beyond  there. 

You  knew  nothing  of  this  then  ;  I  suppose 
you  but  half  believe  it  now  ;  for  our  parting 
was  manly  enough.  I  kept  as  stiff  an  upper 


A  LETTER  AND  A  PARAGRAPH       37 

lip  as  you  did,  for  all  there  was  less  hair  on 
it.  Perhaps  it  seems  extravagant  to  you. 
But  there  was  a  deal  of  difference  between 
our  cases.  You  had  turned  your  pen  to 
money-making,  at  the  call  of  love ;  you  were 
going  to  Stillwater  to  marry  the  judge's  daugh 
ter,  and  to  become  a  great  land-owner  and 
mayor  of  Stillwater  and  millionnaire — or  what 
is  it  now  ?  And  much  of  this  you  foresaw  or 
hoped  for,  at  least.  Hope  is  something.  But 
for  me?  I  was  left  in  the  third-story  of  a 
poor  lodging-house  in  St.  Mark's  Place,  my 
best  friend  gone  from  me  ;  with  neither  re 
membrance  nor  hope  of  Love  to  live  on,  and 
with  my  last  story  back  from  all  the  mag 
azines. 

We  will  not  talk  about  it.  Let  me  get 
back  to  my  pleasant  library  with  the  books 
and  the  pictures  and  the  glancing  fire-light, 
and  me  with  my  feet  in  your  bearskin  rug, 
listening  to  my  wife's  step  in  the  next  room. 

To  your  ear,  for  our  communion  has  been 
so  long  and  so  close  that  to  either  one  of  us 
the  faintest  inflection  of  the  other's  voice 
speaks  clearer  than  formulated  words;  to 
your  ear  there  must  be  something  akin  to  a 
tone  of  regret — regret  for  the  old  days — in 


38        A  LETTER  AND  A  PARAGRAPH 

what  I  have  just  said.  And  would  it  be 
strange  if  there  were?  A  poor  soldier  of 
fortune  who  had  been  set  to  a  man's  work 
before  he  had  done  with  his  meagre  boyhood, 
who  had  passed  from  recruit  to  the  place  of 
a  young  veteran  in  that  great,  hard-fighting, 
unresting  pioneer  army  of  journalism;  was 
he  the  man,  all  of  a  sudden,  to  stretch  his 
toughened  sinews  out  and  let  them  relax  in 
the  glow  of  the  home  hearth?  Would  not 
his  legs  begin  to  twitch  for  the  road ;  would 
he  not  be  wild  to  feel  again  the  rain  in  his 
weather-beaten  face?  Would  you  think  it 
strange  if  at  night  he  should  toss  in  his  white, 
soft  bed,  longing  to  change  it  for  a  blanket 
on  the  turf,  with  the  broad  procession  of  sun 
lit  worlds  sweeping  over  his  head,  beyond 
the  blue  spaces  of  the  night  ?  And  even  if 
the  dear  face  on  the  pillow  next  him  were  to 
wake  and  look  at  him  with  reproachful  sur 
prise  ;  and  even  if  warm  arms  drew  him  back 
to  his  new  allegiance  ;  would  not  his  heart  in 
dreams  go  throbbing  to  the  rhythm  of  the 
drum  or  the  music  of  songs  sung  by  the  camp- 
fire? 

It  was  so  at  the  beginning,  in  the  incredi 
ble  happiness  of  the  first  year,  and  even  after 


A  LETTER  AND  A  PARAGRAPH       39 

the  boy's  birth.  Do  you  know,  it  was 
months  before  I  could  accept  that  boy  as  a 
fact  ?  If,  at  any  moment,  he  had  vanished 
from  my  sight,  crib  and  all,  I  should  not 
have  been  surprised.  I  was  not  sure  of  him 
until  he  began  to  show  his  mother's  eyes. 

Yes,  even  in  those  days  some  of  the  old 
leaven  worked  in  me.  I  had  moments  of 
that  old  barbaric  freedom  which  we  used  to 
rejoice  in — that  feeling  of  being  answerable 
to  nothing  in  the  world  save  my  own  will — 
the  sense  of  untrammeled,  careless  power. 

Do  you  remember  the  night  that  we  walked 
till  sunrise?  You  remember  how  hot  it  was 
at  midnight,  when  we  left  the  office,  and  how 
the  moonlight  on  the  statue  above  the  City 
Hall  seemed  to  invite  us  fieldward,  where  no 
gaslight  glared,  no  torches  flickered.  So  we 
walked  idly  northward,  through  the  black, 
silence-stricken  down-town  streets  ;  through 
that  feverish,  unresting  central  region  that 
lies  between  the  vileness  of  Houston  Street 
and  the  calm  and  spacious  dignity  of  the 
brown-stone  ways,  where  the  closed  and 
darkened  dwellings  looked  like  huge  tombs 
in  the  pallid  light  of  the  moon.  We  passed 
the  suburban  belt  of  shanties ;  we  passed  the 


40        A  LETTER  AND  A  PARAGRAPH 

garden-girt  villas  beyond  them,  and  it  was 
from  the  hill  above  Spuyten  Duyvil  that  we 
saw  the  first  color  of  the  morning  upon  the 
face  of  the  Palisades. 

It  would  have  taken  very  little  in  that  mo 
ment  to  set  us  off  to  tramping  the  broad 
earth,  for  the  pure  joy  of  free  wayfaring. 
What  was  there  to  hold  us  back  ?  No  tie  of 
home  or  kin.  All  we  had  in  the  world  to 
leave  behind  us  was  some  futile  scribbling  on 
various  sheets  of  paper.  And  of  that  sort  of 
thing  both  our  heads  were  full  enough.  I 
think  it  was  but  the  veriest  chance  that, 
having  begun  that  walk,  we  did  not  go  on 
and  get  our  fill  of  wandering,  and  ruin  our 
lives. 

Well,  that  same  wild,  adventurous  spirit 
came  upon  me  now  and  then.  There  were 
times  when,  for  the  moment,  I  forgot  that  I 
had  a  wife  and  a  child.  There  were  times 
when  I  remembered  them  as  a  burden.  Why 
should  I  not  say  this  ?  It  is  the  history  of 
every  married  man, — at  least  of  every  manly 
man, — though  he  be  married  to  the  best 
woman  in  the  world.  It  means  no  lack  of 
love.  It  is  as  unavoidable  as  the  leap  of  the 
blood  in  you  that  answers  a  trumpet-call. 


A  LETTER  AND  A  PARAGRAPH       41 

At  first  I  was  frightened,  and  fought 
against  it  as  against  something  that  might 
grow  upon  me.  I  reproached  myself  for  dis 
loyalty  in  thought.  Ah !  what  need  had  I  to 
fight  ?  What  need  had  I  to  choke  down  re 
bellious  fancies,  while  my  wife's  love  was 
working  that  miracle  that  makes  two  spirits 
one? 

"What  is  it,  this  union  that  comes  to  us  as 
a  surprise,  and  remains  for  all  outside  an 
incommunicable  mystery  ?  What  is  this  that 
makes  our  unmarried  love  seem  so  slight  and 
childish  a  thing  ?  You  and  I,  who  know  it, 
know  that  it  is  no  mere  fruit  of  intimacy  and 
usage,  although  in  its  growth  it  keeps  pace 
with  these.  We  know  that  in  some  subtle 
way  it  has  been  given  to  a  man  to  see  a 
woman's  soul  as  he  sees  his  own,  and  to  a 
woman  to  look  into  a  man's  heart  as  if  it 
were,  indeed,  hers.  But  the  friend  who  sits 
at  my  table,  seeing  that  my  wife  and  I  under 
stand  each  other  at  a  simple  meeting  of  the 
eyes,  makes  no  more  of  it  than  he  does  of 
the  glance  of  intelligence  which,  with  close 
friends,  often  takes  the  place  of  speech.  He 
never  dreams  of  the  sweet  delight  with  which 
we  commune  together  in  a  language  that  he 


42        A  LETTER  AND  A  PARAGRAPH 

cannot  understand — that  he  cannot  hear — a 
language  that  has  no  formulated  words,  feel 
ing  answering  feeling. 

It  is  not  wonderful  that  I  should  wish  to 
give  expression  to  the  gratitude  with  which  I 
have  seen  my  life  made  to  blossom  thus ;  my 
thankfulness  for  the  love  which  has  made  me 
not  only  a  happier,  but,  I  humbly  believe,  a 
wiser  and  a  better-minded  man.  But  I  know 
too  well  the  hopelessness  of  trying  to  find 
words  to  describe  what,  were  I  a  poet,  my 
best  song  might  but  faintly,  faintly  echo. 

I  thought  I  heard  a  rustle  behind  me  just 
now.  In  a  little  while  my  wife  will  come 
softly  into  the  room,  and  softly  up  to  where 
I  am  sitting,  stepping  silently  across  your 
bearskin  rug,  and  will  lay  one  hand  softly  on 
my  left  shoulder,  while  the  other  slips  down 
this  arm  with  which  I  write,  until  it  falls  and 
closes  lightly,  yet  with  loving  firmness,  on 
my  hand  that  holds  the  pen.  And  I  shall 
say,  "  Only  the  last  words  to  Will  and  his 
wife,  dear."  And  she  will  release  my  hand, 
and  will  lift  her  own,  I  think,  to  caress  the 
patch  of  gray  hair  on  my  temple ;  it  is  a  way 
she  has,  as  though  it  were  some  pitiful  scar, 
and  she  will  say,  "  Give  them  my  love,  and 


A  LETTER  AND  A  PARAGRAPH       43 

tell  them  they  must  not  fail  us  this  Christ 
mas.  I  want  them  to  see  how  our  Willy  has 
grown."  And  when  she  says  "  Our  Willy," 
the  hand  on  my  shoulder  will  instinctively 
close  a  little,  clingingly ;  and  she  will  bend 
her  head,  and  put  her  face  close  to  mine,  and 
I  shall  turn  to  look  into  her  eyes. 


Bear  with  me,  my  dear  Will,  until  I  have 
told  you  why  I  have  written  this  letter  and 
what  it  means.  I  have  concealed  one  thing 
from  you  for  the  last  six  months.  I  have 
disease  of  the  heart,  and  the  doctor  has  told 
me  that  I  may  die  at  any  moment.  Some 
how,  I  think — I  know  the  moment  is  close  at 
hand ;  I  shall  soon  go  to  that  narrow  cot  on 
the  right  of  the  door,  and  I  do  not  believe  I 
shall  wake  up  in  the  morning  with  the  sun 
in  my  eyes,  to  look  across  the  room  and  see 
that  its  companion  is  gone. 

For  I  am  in  the  old  room,  "Will,  as  you 
know,  and  it  is  not  ten  years  since  you  went 
away,  but  two  days.  The  picture  that  has 
seemed  real  to  me  as  I  wrote  these  pages  is 
fading,  and  the  thin  gas-jet  flickers  and  sinks 
as  it  always  did  in  these  first  morning  hours. 


44       A  LETTER  AND  A  PARAGRAPH 

I  can  hear  the  roar  of  the  last  Harlem  train 
swell  and  sink,  and  the  sharp  clink  of  car- 
bells  break  the  silence  that  follows.  The 
wind  is  gasping  and  struggling  in  the  chim 
ney,  and  blowing  a  white  powdery  ash  down 
on  the  hearth.  I  have  just  burnt  my  poems 
and  the  play.  Both  the  table  drawers  are 
empty  now  ;  and  soon  enough  the  two  empty 
chairs  will  stare  at  each  other  across  the  bare 
table.  What  a  wild  dream  have  I  dreamt  in 
all  this  emptiness  !  Just  now,  I  thought  in 
deed  that  it  was  true.  I  thought  I  heard  a 
woman's  step  behind  me,  and  I  turned — 

Peace  be  with  you,  Will,  in  the  fulness  of 
your  love.  I  am  going  to  sleep.  Perhaps  I 
shall  dream  it  all  again,  and  shall  hear  that 
soft  footfall  when  the  turn  of  the  night  comes, 
and  the  pale  light  through  the  ragged  blind, 
and  the  end  of  a  long  loneliness. 

After  I  am  dead,  I  wish  you  to  think  of  me 
not  as  I  was,  but  as  I  wanted  to  be.  I  have 
tried  to  show  you  that  I  have  led  by  your  side 
a  happier  and  dearer  life  of  hope  and  aspira 
tion  than  the  one  you  saw.  I  have  tried  to 
leave  your  memory  a  picture  of  me  that  you 
will  not  shrink  from  calling  up  when  you  have 
a  quiet  hour  and  time  for  thought  of  the 


A  LETTER  AND  A  PARAGRAPH       45 

friend  whom  you  knew  well ;  but  whom  you 
may,  perhaps,  know  better  now  that  he  is 

dead. 

REGINALD  BARCLAY. 


n 

THE  PAEAGRAPH 

[From  the  New  York  Herald  of  Nov.  18,  1883.] 

Reginald  Barclay,  a  journalist,  was  found 
dead  in  his  bed  at  15  St.  Mark's  Place,  yester 
day  morning.  No  inquest  was  held,  as  Mr. 
Barclay  had  been  known  to  be  suffering  from 
disease  of  the  heart,  and  his  death  was  not  un 
expected.  The  deceased  came  originally  from 
Oneida  County,  and  was  regarded  as  a  young 
journalist  of  considerable  promise.  He  had 
been  for  some  years  on  the  city  staff  of  the 
Record,  and  was  the  correspondent  of  several 
out-of-town  papers.  He  had  also  contributed 
to  the  monthly  magazines,  occasional  poems 
and  short  stories,  which  showed  the  posses 
sion,  in  some  measure,  of  the  imaginative 
faculty.  Mr.  Barclay  was  about  thirty  years 
of  age,  and  unmarried. 


AS    ONE    HAVING 
AUTHORITY  " 


- 


'AS   ONE    HAVING 
AUTHORITY" 

THE  ramshackle  little  train  of  three  cars 
was  joggling  slowly  on  as  only  a  South 
ern  railroad  train  can  joggle,  its  whole  frame 
shaking  and  jarring  and  rattling  in  an  agony 
of  exertion,  utterly  out  of  proportion  to  the 
progress  it  was  making.  It  put  me  in  mind, 
somehow,  of  the  way  a  very  aged  negro 
saws  wood  when  he  sees  charitable  gentlefolk 
coming  along  the  road. 

In  the  seat  beside  me  Mr.  John  McMarsters 
fidgeted  —  fidgeted  for  New  York,  for  the 
New  York  papers,  for  news  of  the  races,  for 
somebody  to  talk  horse  with,  for  a  game  of 
cards,  or  pool,  or  billiards,  or  anything  that 
could  be  called  a  game.  These  were  tho 
things  that  made  life  sweet  to  Handsome 
Jack,  and  these  things  being  denied  him  for 
the  time  being,  he  fidgeted.  He  tugged  at 
his  great  fair  mustaches,  shifted  about  his 
4 


50      "A3  ONE  HAVING  AUTHORITY" 

seat,  twisted  and  untwisted  his  long  legs; 
his  face  twitched  and  grimaced,  and  from 
time  to  time  he  swore  under  his  breath  in 
a  futile  and  scattering  way. 

Then  his  light-blue  boyish  eyes  began  to 
wander  over  the  car  in  a  blank,  searching 
stare,  and  I  knew  he  was  looking  for  "  a  real 
live  sport."  Yes,  I  knew  he  would  gladly 
have  exchanged  my  society  for  that  of  the 
humblest  jockey  from  a  Kentucky  stable,  and 
that  our  twenty  years  of  friendship  would 
count  as  naught  in  the  balance.  Yet  I  did 
not  repine.  It  is  the  way  of  the  world.  I 
turned  to  my  book  and  took  a  walk  with 
Mr.  John  Evelyn  to  see  King  Charles  go 

by- 

Suddenly  I  felt  Jack  grasp  my  arm. 

"  Say  ! "  he  said,  "  look  there !  What  kind 
of  a  boss  parson  do  you  call  that  ?  " 

He  pointed  to  a  magnificent  old  man  in  the 
dress  of  the  church,  who  sat  facing  us  at  the 
other  end  of  the  car. 

"  How's  that  ?  "  said  Jack,  who  had  been 
graduated  of  the  Bowery  and  dropped  by 
Columbia  College.  "  Get  on  to  the  physique  ! 
Why,  that  man  has  no  business  to  be  a  dom 
inie.  He  was  built  to  fight.  Say !  he  must 


"AS  ONE  HAVING  AUTHORITY  »     5l 

have  been  right  in  his  good  time  when  Hee- 
nan  and  Morrissey  were  on  deck.  He  must 
have  been  a  beautiful  man.  How  do  you 
suppose  they  ever  got  him  to  take  a  religious 
job?" 

"John,"  said  I,  laying  down  my  book, 
"  I  know  that  your  life  is  practically  circum 
scribed  by  the  race-track,  and  that  you  are 
a  bigoted  and  intolerant  sport.  But  will  you 
tell  me  how  an  old  New  Yorker  like  you,  and 
an  old  Ninth  Warder,  can  get  to  your  age 
without  knowing  Bishop  Waldegrave,  by 
sight,  at  least." 

"Well,"  said  Jack,  flushing  a  little,  "I 
suppose  he  keeps  off  my  beat ;  and  I  don't 
worry  his  very  much.  But  I'll  tell  you  one 
thing,  my  frieDd.  I  don't  know  much  about 
bishops,  but  I  do  know  something  about 
men,  and  I  pick  this  man  out  of  this  car — 
see  ?  And  I'm  going  to  make  his  acquaint 
ance." 

"What  do  you  mean?  "  I  cried,  aghast. 

"  Mean  ?  "  repeated  Jack.  "  I  mean  I'm 
going  to  introduce  myself  to  him.  He  looks 
as  if  he'd  like  to  have  a  little  talk  with  a 
white  man.  Who's  that  fellow  with  him — 
that  sour  little  prune?  " 


52      "AS  ONE  UA  VING  A  UT1IORITT  ' ' 

"  That's  his  nephew,  Frederick  Dillington," 
said  I. 

"Is  it  ?  "  said  Jack.  "  Well,  I  bet  he's  just 
waiting  for  the  old  man's  wealth.  I'll  bet  it 
on  his  face.  Say !  what  wages  does  a  bishop 
get  ?  He's  got  big  money,  hasn't  he  ?  Thought 
so.  Look  at  that  English  valet  in  the  seat 
behind  him.  That's  the  correctest  thing  I 
ever  saw,  and  the  correct  thing  comes  high. 
Too  correct  for  me.  I'm  glad  my  man  isn't 
like  that.  I  wouldn't  come  home  to  that  man 
at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  for  five 
hundred  dollars.  Why,  it  would  be  just  an 
act  of  holy  charity  to  go  over  and  brighten 
that  bishop  up  a  bit.  Come  along ! " 

I  talked  my  best  to  Jack.  I  tried  my  best 
to  make  him  understand  who  and  what 
Bishop  Waldegrave  was,  or  rather  had  been. 
I  told  him  that  the  Bishop  had  been  in 
his  time  the  greatest  man  in  his  Church,  and 
that  he  was  famous  the  world  over  for  his 
scholarship,  his  philanthropy,  his  vast  abili 
ties,  and  his  splendid  oratory,  and  his  power 
over  the  hearts  and  minds  of  men.  I  told  him 
that  he  had  long  ago  retired  from  active  life, 
and  that  it  was  more  than  suspected  that  his 
great  mind  was  failing  with  his  advancing 


"AS  ONE  HAVING  AUTHORITY"     53 

years.  I  tried  to  explain  to  the  honest  soul 
that  our  company  might  not  be  acceptable  to 
such  a  man.  Then  I  made  a  hopeless  blunder. 

"  Why,  Jack,"  I  said,  "  think  of  his  age ! 
That  man  may  have  baptized  your  father, 
and  perhaps  mine,  for  all  I  know." 

"  That  does  it,"  said  Jack,  rising  promptly. 
"It's  a  long  shot,  but  I  take  the  chances. 
I'm  going  to  ask  him."  And  he  sped  down 
the  aisle. 

Three  minutes  later,  I  looked  over  the  top 
of  my  Evelyn,  and  saw  the  Bishop  and  Jack 
holding  the  friendliest  of  converse,  while  Mr. 
Dillington  glared  at  them  in  an  unpleasant 
way,  and  the  English  valet  took  the  strange 
scene  in  without  anything  in  his  face  that 
could  remotely  suggest  an  expression.  It 
is  one  peculiar  thing  about  human  nature 
that  there  is  always  a  great  deal  to  learn 
about  it. 

But  now  I  began  to  feel  uneasy  on  my  own 
account.  I  felt  sure  that  Jack,  in  the  simple 
hospitality  of  his  spirit,  would  take  me  into 
his  new  friendship;  and  I  felt  that  much 
might  be  pardoned  to  Jack  that  might  not 
be  pardoned  to  me.  I  went  back  into  the 
smoking-car,  which  was  in  the  rear  of  the 


54      " A8   OXE  HAVING   AUTHORITY" 

train — it  was  one  of  those  trains  that  travel 
down  the  road  with  one  end  foremost,  and  up 
with  the  other  end  in  front. 

I  had  smoked  two  cigars,  and  was  wonder 
ing  how  long  I  could  hold  out,  when  my 
astonished  eyes  saw  Jack  McMarsters  appear 
in  the  doorway,  with  the  Bishop  leaning 
on  his  arm, 

"  All  right,  now,  Bishop,"  I  heard  him  say, 
as  he  and  his  tall  charge  got  safely  within  the 
car,  "  free  before  the  wind !  " 

"With  athletic  skill,  yet  with  a  gentleness 
that  was  pretty  to  see,  he  guided  the  old  man 
to  the  seat  which  I  rose  to  give  him.  Then,  as 
we  settled  ourselves  opposite,  he  presented 
me  to  Bishop  "Waldegrave,  in  his  own  easy 
fashion. 

"  I  knew  you'd  want  to  know  the  Bishop," 
he  remarked  to  me,  airily,  after  the  brief 
ceremony  was* over.  "He  did  baptize  my 
father,  and  he  thinks  he  baptized  yours. 
Can  you  give  him  any  pointers  on  your  old 
man?" 

I  looked  at  the  Bishop.  He  did  not  smile. 
He  had  accepted  Jack  just  as  all  Jack's 
friends  had  accepted  him.  The  old  man's 
broad  charity,  and  the  profound  knowledge 


ALL   RIGHT   NOW,   BISHOP,'    I   HEARD   HIM    SAY" 


"  AS  ONE  HAVING  AUTHORITY"      55 

of  the  world  which  he  had  possessed  in  his 
days  of  active  service,  had  opened  the  way  to 
his  heart  for  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men, 
who  bore  the  passport  of  genuineness.  That 
passport  being  undoubtedly  in  Jack's  posses 
sion,  it  made  no  difference  to  the  Bishop 
that  he  spoke  a  peculiar  dialect  of  the 
English  language. 

Moreover,  we  had  not  talked  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  before  I  discovered  that  Jack's  inter 
pretation  of  the  expression  that  the  old 
man's  face  had  worn  was  absolutely  right. 
His  kind  and  happy  spirit  was  yearning 
for  good  fellowship.  There  was  that  in  him 
which  craved  better  companionship  than 
his  cold  and  soulless  caretakers  could  give 
him.  The  dignified,  thoughtful  lines  of 
his  face  softened  as  he  talked  to  us  in 
an  eager,  pleased  way,  rambling  on  of  old 
times  and  old  houses,  and  the  good  men 
and  the  dear  women  whom  he  had  wed  and 
buried.  He  seemed  to  grow  younger  as  he 
talked. 

But  in  a  very  short  time  he  showed  that  he 
was  tired,  and,  lying  back  in  his  seat,  he  fell 
into  that  curious  light  slumber  of  old  age 
that  is  not  all  sleep,  but  is  partly  a  dim 


56      "AS  ONE  HAVING  AUTHORITY" 

revery.  Jack  watched  him  carefully  until  he 
was  "off" — as  Jack  expressed  it — and  then 
he  whispered  softly  to  me. 

"Great,  ain't  he?  Wish  you  could  have 
seen  the  fun  when  I  started  to  take  him  in 
here.  Nephew  tried  to  make  him  believe  he 
didn't  want  to  come.  Old  man  wouldn't  have 
it.  Said  he  thought  a  cigar  would  do  him 
good.  Nephew  tried  it  again — I  couldn't 
hear  what  he  said.  Then  the  old  man  got 
right  up  on  his  choker.  His  voice  was  just 
as  sweet  and  mild  as  a  May  morning,  but 
when  he  put  the  emphatics  on,  it  sounded 
like  a  chunk  of  ice  falling  off  a  five-story 
building.  '  Fred-er-ick,'  says  he,  '  I  am  GO 
ING  into  the  SMOKING-CAR  to  have  a 
little  CONVERSATION  with  the  grandson 
of  my  old  FRIEND,  Judge  McMarsters.  I 
will  see  you,  Frederick,  on  my  RETURN.' 
Frederick  turned  pale  green,  and  sat  down. 
He  just  muttered  something  about  sending 
the  valet  with  him  in  case  he  wanted  any 
thing.  I  waited  until  the  Bishop  had  a  move 
on  him,  and  then  I  slipped  back  and  tapped 
Nephew  Fred  on  the  shoulder.  *  Look  here,' 
says  I,  'your  man  stays  just  where  he  is. 
You  may  not  have  had  a  father  yourself,  but 


"AS  ONE  HAVING  AUTHORITY1'      57 

/have.1  You  don't  think  I  said  too  much, 
do  you?" 

"  Oh,  no,  not  at  all,"  said  I,  "  not  in  the 
least.  He  would  have  been  quite  justified  in 
throwing  you  out  of  the  car,  that's  all." 

"That  fellow?"  said  Jack,  disdainfully; 
"  why,  he  couldn't  lift  one  side  of  me."  And 
I  gave  it  up. 

"  Now,  you  said,"  continued  Jack,  nodding 
toward  the  dozing  Bishop,  "that  his  head 
was  going.  "Tisn't,  though.  It's  nothing 
but  old  age.  When  a  man  gets  to  be  as  old 
as  that,  he  talks  a  while  and  then  he  kind  of 
loses  his  grip,  just  for  a  minute — see  ?  All 
he  needs  is  a  little  help.  My  old  father  was 
like  that  for  the  last  six  years  of  his  life,  and 
I  learned  how  to  manage  him.  When  I  saw 
he  was  likely  to  go  to  pieces,  I  just  put  my 
hand  on  him — so — quiet,  but  firm  ;  and  I 
whispered  to  him  very  low  :  c  Steady  down, 
Governor,  steady  down — don't  break !  Then 
he  pulled  himself  right  together;  and  if  he 
thought  nobody  had  noticed  him  he'd  be  just 
as  straight  as  you  or  I.  That's  the  way  to 
handle  them  !  " 

I  was  wondering  if  this  was  the  way  he 
had  "  handled  "  Bishop  Waldegrave,  when  the 


58      "  A8  ONE  HAVING  AUTHORITY" 

train  began  to  slow  down  by  a  little  variation 
on  the  series  of  jerks  and  bumps,  and  the 
negro  brakeman  put  his  head  in  the  doorway 
and  shouted : 

"  Ashe  Kiver  Ferry  !  " 

^The  Bishop  still  dozed— in  fact,  he  was 
fast  asleep  now — too  sound  asleep  to  be 
awakened  by  the  bump  with  which  we  finally 
stopped.  Jack  and  I  went  to  the  door  and 
looked  out.  "We  saw  a  forlorn  place  at  the 
forlornest  hour  of  a  forlorn  day.  Even  in 
full  summer,  Ashe  River  Ferry  could  not 
have  been  an  attractive  town.  Seen  in  the 
dim  light  of  a  late  spring  evening,  it  was  a 
singularly  depressing  specimen  of  the  shift 
less  and  poverty-stricken  little  settlements 
that  dot  the  waste  spaces  of  the  South — towns, 
if  towns  they  may  be  called,  that  come  into 
existence  solely  to  supply  the  special  needs 
of  some  little  group  of  railroad  operatives.  A 
dozen  hideously  ugly  frame  houses,  forty  or 
fifty  negro  shanties,  a  few  acres  of  wretched 
farm-land,  sparsely  bristled  with  dead  corn 
stalks,  one  to  a  hill ;  blackened  stumps  spot 
ting  great  stretches  of  half-cleared  land ;  thin, 
sickly  pine-woods  hemming  in  the  horizon  on 
three  sides;  on  the  fourth  a  broad,  muddy, 


"AS  ONE  HAVING  AUTHORITY"     59 

dreary  river,  swoollen  and  turbulent  from  the 
spring  freshets,  with  the  same  poor  pine- 
woods  on  the  other  side,  scratches  of  black 
against  the  one  pale-yellow  line  that  cleft  the 
dull  gray  sky  to  the  eastward.  If  one  lived  a 
hundred  years  at  Ashe  River  Ferry,  he  could 
make  no  more  of  it  than  this. 

Looking  out  on  this  unengaging  prospect, 
I  was  surprised  to  see  Jack's  face  suddenly 
light  up  with  mirth,  and  to  hear  him  break 
into  a  low,  happy  laugh.  Then  he  touched 
my  shoulder  and  pointed  down  the  track. 

"  How's  that  for  a  joke  on  the  nephew  ?  " 
lie  said. 

I  looked  down  toward  the  river  at  the 
little  ferry-slip,  with  its  crazy  piles  and  rusty 
chains.  The  ferry-boat,  which  was  likewise 
crazy  and  rusty,  could  carry  but  one  car  at 
a  time,  and  it  had  just  started  on  its  first 
trip  with  car  No.  1  of  our  train.  On  the  rear 
platform  stood  two  figures — the  impassive 
English  valet  and  Mr.  Frederick  Dillington, 
who  was  anything  but  impassive.  We  were 
too  far  away  to  hear  what  he  was  saying  to 
the  stolid  deckhands  below  him,  but  there 
was  not  the  slightest  need  of  words  to  ex 
plain  the  situation,  or  to  make  us  understand 


CO      "  AS  ONE  HAVING  AUTHORITY" 

that  Mr.  Dillingfcon  was  executing  every  vari 
ation  in  his  power  on  the  simple  theme  of 
"  stop  the  boat !  " — and  that  his  solo  was  re 
ceiving  choral  responses  of  "it  can't  be  done." 

And  it  was  not  done.  The  ferry-boat 
puffed  and  wheezed  on  her  way  as  well  as 
she  was  able — and,  indeed,  nothing  but  the 
strange  stupidity  of  selfishness  could  have 
blinded  Mr.  Dillington  to  the  fact  that,  in 
such  wild  and  rough  water,  the  clumsy  craft 
could  ill  afford  to  go  one  foot  further  than 
was  absolutely  needful. 

Jack  leaned  forward  with  his  hands  on  his 
knees,  his  face  fairly  wrinkled  with  merri 
ment,  and  he  crowed  and  chuckled  with  glee. 

"  Oh,  I'd  have  given  a  hundred  dollars  for 
this  !  "  he  said.  "  And  if  that  boat  gets  stuck 
on  the  other  side,  I  make  it  five  hundred." 

"  John,"  I  said,  "  is  not  this  one  of  the  oc 
casions  when  you  are  an  idiot?  "What  should 
we  do  if  we  were  left  with  that  old  gentleman 
on  our  hands  ?  " 

"Why,"  said  Jack,  heartily  and  simply, 
"  bless  your  soul,  Pd  take  care  of  him  !  I'd 
give  him  a  better  time  than  he's  had  in  twenty 
years,  too  ;  and  don't  you  make  a  mistake." 

That  day,  for  sure,  the  gods  were  with  Mr- 


"AS  ONE  HAVING  AUTHORITY"     61 

John  McMarsters.  The  ferry-boat  did  not 
get  stuck  on  the  other  side,  to  his  deep  dis 
appointment,  but  she  fulfilled  his  desire  by  a 
different  method  of  procedure — she  fixed 
things,  as  he  remarked,  in  her  own  blooming, 
pig-headed  way. 

For,  on  her  return  trip,  as  she  approached 
the  shore,  she  ran  well  up  the  river  to  avoid 
being  carried  past  her  slip  by  the  furious 
current,  and,  miscalculating  her  direction, 
came  against  the  trembling  old  spiles  with  a 
force  that  wrecked  nearly  half  one  side  of  the 
slip,  and  smashed  her  own  wheel-box  into  a 
tangle  of  kindling  wood  and  twisted  iron. 

"  Great  Csesar's  Ghost !  "  shouted  Jack, 
pounding  his  knees  with  delight,  "  she's  done 
it,  she's  done  it !  Say !  who  do  I  pay  that 
five  hundred  to  ?  Do  the  niggers  get  it,  or 
do  I  blow  it  in  on  the  Bishop  ?  " 

I  tried  to  point  out  some  of  the  serious  as 
pects  of  the  case  to  Jack,  but  he  would  have 
none  of  my  remonstrances. 

"  It's  an  elegant,  gilt-edged  lark,"  he  said. 
"  I'm  game  for  it,  and  so  are  you,  when  you 
get  through  with  your  preaching.  Eloping 
with  a  bishop !  Holy  Moses !  Wait  till  I 
get  back  to  New  York  and  tell  the  boys !  " 


62      "A3  ONE  HAVING  AUTHORITY" 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  it  may  be  possible  to  get 
a  boat  across  the  river.  I  will  go  and  in 
quire." 

The  veteran  sport  withered  me  with  su 
perior  scorn. 

"You  may  inquire,  if  you  like,"  he  said, 
"  till  your  inquirer  breaks,  but  /  don't  want 
any  man  to  tell  me  he  can  get  a  boat  across 
that  river.  Why,  I  wouldn't  take  a  ship's 
yawl  out  there.  Man,  it's  half  a  flood  !  " 

I  did  inquire,  however,  and  was  scorned 
and  despised  by  every  native  to  whom  I  ad 
dressed  my  inquiry ;  so  we  went  back  to  the 
car  to  break  the  news  to  the  Bishop,  who  was 
awake  by  this  time. 

At  first  he  took  it  quite  hard.  He  seemed 
to  be  distressed  and  apprehensive,  and  said, 
"  Oh,  dear,  oh,  dear !  "  over  and  over  again, 
in  a  gentle,  dismayed  way. 

Then  Jack  took  it  upon  himself  to  address 
a  brief  philosophical  discourse  to  the  Bish 
op. 

"  Everything  goes,  Bishop,"  he  said  ;  "  see  ? 
"We've  got  to  take  things  as  they  come,  and  if 
they  come  mixed,  why  we've  got  to  take  them 
that  way.  One  day  you  play  in  luck ;  the 
next  you  ain't  in  it,  but  it  all  goes — see  ?  If 


"AS  ONE  HAVING  AUTHORITY"      63 

you're  all  right,  that  goes.  If  you  get  it  in 
the  neck,  that  goes  too.  That's  the  way  I 
look  at  it.  I  don't  know  if  I  know,  but  that's 
the  way  I  look  at  it.  Everything  goes.  Is 
that  right?" 

"  Unquestionably  you  are  right,  Mr.  Mc- 
Marsters,"  replied  the  Bishop,  "  and  you  do 
well  to  remind  me  of  the  transitoriness  of  the 
annoyances  which  humanity  is  too  apt  to  ex 
aggerate  into  afflictions.  But  you  will  par 
don  an  old  man's  grumbling.  Old  men,"  he 
said,  smiling,  "  are  allowed  to  grumble  a  little. 
And  I  am  sure  I  should  be  very  thankful  to 
have  fallen  into  such  good  hands." 

Then,  as  he  rose  from  his  seat  and  rested 
his  hand  on  Jack's  arm,  he  cast  a  wistful 
glance  at  one  and  the  other  of  our  faces,  and 
said,  with  a  gentle  dignity  that  honored  us 
both: 

"  I  am  afraid,  gentlemen,  I  may  have  to 
ask  your  indulgence  for  the  infirmities  of  a 
very  old  man — a  very  old  man." 

We  made  the  Bishop  fairly  comfortable  in 
the  station,  and  I  stayed  with  him  while  Jack 
went  in  search  of  a  suitable  lodging.  It 
seemed  a  hopeless  task,  and  I  began  to  feel 
the  weight  of  the  responsibility  that  rested 


64:      "AS  ONE  HAVING  AUTHORITY" 

upon  our  shoulders.  But  within  half  an  hour 
Jack  was  back,  smiling  cheerfully. 

"  Did  you  find  a  hotel  ?  "  I  asked,  eagerly. 

"  Hotel !  "  said  Jack,  contemptuously. 
"  What  place  do  you  think  this  is,  Paris  or 
Saratoga?  There  ain't  a  hotel  within  ten 
miles.  But  there's  a  friend  of  mine  keeps  a 
little  sporting  place  down  by  the  river " 

"  A  friend  of  yours !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  In 
this  place  ?  " 

"Well,  I  just  met  him,"  Jack  exclaimed, 
calmly,  "  about  fifteen  minutes  ago.  But  he 
knows  me  —  that  is,  he  knew  all  about  me. 
He  lost  two  hundred  once  on  a  horse  I 
owned.  He's  a  first-rate  fellow — see?  and 
he'll  take  us  all  in  and  do  for  us  in  elegant 
shape." 

"  Heavens,  Jack  ! "  said  I,  "we  can't  take 
the  Bishop  to  a  place  like  that." 

"  Yes,  we  can,"  said  Jack  ;  "  it's  a  first-rate 
place.  Clean  as  a  new  pin.  Eegular  old- 
fashioned  sporting  place.  Nice  old  colored 
prints  all  round.  Picture  of  Hiram  Wood 
ruff  on  one  side  of  the  door,  and  Budd  Doble 
driving  Flora  Temple  on  the  other.  My 
friend  and  his  wife  will  turn  out  and  give  the 
Bishop  their  room,  and  you  and  I  sleep  be- 


"AS  ONE  HAVING  AUTHORITY"     65 

hind  the  bar.  If  any  of  the  boys  drop  in, 
he'll  see  that  they're  quiet,  and  there  won't 
be  any  game  to-night — see  ?  Oh,  you  needn't 
think  I  don't  know  the  right  thing  for  a  re 
ligious  swell." 

I  had  my  misgivings,  but  it  turned  out  that 
Jack  had  really  done  very  well  for  us.  "  Ma- 
gonigle's  "  was  an  absurd  little  old  two-story 
box  on  the  very  edge  of  the  river,  evidently 
a  house-of-call  for  boating  and  driving  men. 
The  whole  building  was  scarcely  more  than 
twenty  feet  square,  but  the  interior  was  neat 
and  cosey,  and  the  little  room  upstairs  in 
which  we  installed  the  Bishop  was  simply  a 
delightful  little  cabin,  clean  and  sweet,  and 
smelling  of  castile  -  soap  and  fresh  linen. 
Magonigle  himself  was  a  hearty,  kindly  little 
Irishman,  and  Mrs.  Magonigle  a  motherly, 
fresh-faced  little  body,  as  small  for  a  woman 
as  her  husband  was  for  a  man.  The  supper 
she  cooked  was,  as  Jack  said,  a  great  deal  too 
good  for  the  Prince  of  Wales.  It  was  cer 
tainly  quite  good  enough  for  the  Bishop.  It 
was  broiled  spring  chicken,  fried  potatoes, 
and  hot  bread,  and  I  shall  remember  it  while 
I  have  a  palate.  Nor  shall  I  forget  the  India 
pale  ale. 

5 


66      "A3  ONE  HAVING  AUTHORITY' 

After  supper  Jack  put  his  usual  question 
to  Magonigle  : 

"  Say ! "  he  demanded,  "  what  is  there  to  do 
in  this  town  to-night  ?  Now,  don't  give  me 
any  story  about  there  being  nothing.  You 
know  me.  There's  got  to  be  something." 

But  Magonigle  was  firm  in  his  assurances 
that  there  were  absolutely  no  enjoyments  to 
relieve  the  monotony  of  life  in  Ashe  River 
Ferry. 

"  It's  a  dead  place  it  is,  sir.  If  we  could 
get  over  the  river  I  could  show  you,  gentle 
men,  axing  his  riverence's  pardon,  maybe  a 
bit  of  a  cock-fight,  but  on  this  side  of  the 
water  there's  nothing  to  see  at  all,  and  every 
man  in  the  place  will  be  at  work  the  night 
long,  mending  the  ferry-boat.  "Tis  different 
in  the  summer,  sir;  but  in  the  winter  time 
it's  just  dead  this  town  is.'* 

"  Magonigle,"  said  Jack,  imperatively, 
"  turn  up  something  !  " 

Magonigle  looked  doubtfully  at  Jack,  then 
at  the  Bishop,  then  at  me ;  and  it  was  to  me 
that  he  addressed  himself. 

"  Well,  sir,"  he  said,  "  there's  something 
what  they  call  a  revival  meeting  going  on 
out  in  the  woods.  There  do  be  some  people 


"AS  ONE  HAVING  AUTHORITY"     67 

takes  an  interest  in  such  things.  They're  too 
sickly  like  for  me,  sir,  with  the  women 
screaming,  and  having  fits,  like  it  might  be, 
on  the  ground ;  but  if  ye'd  like  to  see  it  I'd 
be  proud  to  hitch  up  the  old  mare,  and  it's  an 
easy  ride  for  this  part  of  the  country,  where 
the  roads  is  the  devil,  if  I  may  speak  without 
disrespect  for  his  riverence." 

"  Niggers  ?  "  inquired  Jack. 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  Magonigle.  "  White 
folks,  such  as  they  are.  I  don't  rightly  re 
member  what  religion  they  call  themselves ; 
for  it's  no  church  they  have  here,  only  meet 
ings  like  this  three  or  four  times  in  the 
twelvemonth,  maybe." 

Jack  and  I  looked  at  each  other.  There 
were  limits  to  even  Jack's  audacity.  We 
both  started  as  the  Bishop's  full,  deep  voice 
joined  in  the  conversation. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "  I  do  not  in  the 
least  wish  to  obtrude  my  society  upon  you. 
I  feel  that  I  have  already  given  you  much 
trouble  ;  but,  if  it  does  not  conflict  with  your 
arrangements  for  this  evening,  I  should  very 
much  like  to  be  one  of  your  party.  It  has 
never  been  my  fortune  to  be  present  at  one 
of  these  gatherings,  and  it  would  deeply 


68      "AS  ONE  HAVING  AUTHORITY" 

interest  me  to  look  on  as  a  spectator.  I  do 
not  feel  that  there  can  be  any  impropriety — 
and  it  is  a  form  of  worship  of  which  I  have 
heard  much,  and  which  I  should  like  to  see 
with  my  own  eyes.  But,  of  course,  if  your 
plans '  And  he  stopped. 

" Why,  Bishop,"  said  Jack,  "we'd  sooner 
stay  here  than  leave  you  out.  Magonigle, 
hitch  up  that  mare  !  " 

It  was  eight  o'clock  when  we  climbed  into 
what  Magonigle  called  the  carriage — a  vehicle 
that  was  neither  an  express  wagon  nor  a  rock- 
away,  but  partook  of  the  nature  of  both.  On 
a  road  so  rough  that  to  our  Northern  under 
standing  it  was  no  road  at  all,  we  plunged 
into  the  shadowy,  dreary  depths  of  the  pine- 
wood.  The  night  was  clearing,  and  through 
the  ragged  evergreens  we  could  catch  glimpses 
of  a  pale,  wind-swept  sky.  The  hot,  moist, 
sickly  smell  of  the  pines  and  firs  half  choked 
us,  the  rough  bumping  of  the  wagon  tired  us 
and  set  our  nerves  on  edge,  and  even  Jack 
McMarsters  had  no  stomach  for  talk. 

We  were  all  but  dazed  with  weariness  of 
mind  and  body,  and  with  the  smell  of  the 
resin-laden  air,  when  suddenly  a  weird  flicker 
of  flaring  torches  played  before  our  eyes, 


fe  AS  ONE  HAVING  AUTHORITY"     69 

dancing  slashes  of  yellow-orange  slitting  the 
deep  gloom  ahead  of  us,  and  dazzling  our 
sleepy  eyes. 

Faintly  there  came  to  us  across  the  wind, 
that  whistled  and  wailed  through  the  trees, 
the  long-drawn-out  notes  of  a  mournful,  old- 
fashioned  hymn,  a  dismal  tune  that  I  knew  in 
my  boyhood.  It  was  one  of  those  sad,  stern, 
denunciatory  old  hymns  that  to  my  memory 
still  hold  the  very  spirit  of  the  dead  New 
England  Sabbath  in  the  cheerless,  hopeless 
melody.  The  singing  ceased  for  an  instant 
only  ;  then  there  uprose  a  far  greater  volume 
of  voices,  tumbling  over  each  other  in  a  mad, 
rattling,  jingling  strain,  a  popular  dance-hall 
air,  shamelessly  and  grotesquely  twisted  into 
the  form  of  a  hymn.  It  was  a  harmless  jig 
ging  tune  enough,  but  linked  to  the  words 
which  we  could  now  hear  in  the  lulls  of  the 
wind,  it  sounded  like  a  profane  travesty. 

u  He's  the  Lily  of  the  Valley,  the  bright  and  morning 

star, 
He's  the  fairest  often  thousand  to  my  soul." 

The  Bishop  turned  to  me  with  a  look  of 
troubled  surprise. 

"  Did  I  catch  the  meaning  of  those  words  ?  " 


70      "AS  ONE  HAVING  AUTHORITY9' 

he  asked;  "or  did  my  ears  deceive  me?  I 
certainly  thought 

I  tried  to  explain  to  the  Bishop  that  camp- 
meeting  folk  allowed  themselves  a  certain 
freedom  and  familiarity  in  dealing  with  sa 
cred  subjects,  which  might  be  in  bad  taste, 
but  certainly  was  not  ill  meant.  But  he 
checked  me  with  a  touch  on  my  arm. 

"  Nay,  nay,"  he  said,  in  his  old-fashioned 
manner,  "  do  not  misapprehend  me.  I  had 
not  meant  to  be  uncharitable." 

"  Any  tune  goes  with  these  people — see  ?  " 
said  Jack,  "  so  long  as  it  is  snappy.  That's 
'The  Little  Old  Log  Cabin  in  the  Lane.'  " 

"  Is  it,  indeed  ?  "  said  the  Bishop. 

Magonigle  led  the  way,  and  we  followed 
him  into  the  circle  of  wavering,  smoking  ker 
osene  torches.  At  first  the  light  dazzled  our 
eyes,  but  after  a  few  moments  we  could  take 
note  of  the  picture  of  gaunt,  uncouth  poverty 
around  us. 

We  were  in  a  little  clearing  of  the  woods 
where  the  stumps  had  been  roughly  levelled  to 
serve  as  supports  for  heavy,  rough-hewn 
planks,  which  were  the  seats.  The  straggly 
pines  made  a  black  belt  around  this  rude  am 
phitheatre.  At  the  further  end  was  a  low 


"AS  ONE  HAVING  AUTHORITY"     71 

platform  of  rough  timber,  where  the  leaders 
of  the  meeting  sat.  Here  the  smoky  lamps 
were  thickest,  and  they  cast  a  yellow  glare  on 
a  little  patch  of  smooth  ground  that  we  could 
see  had  been  trodden  bare  by  many  feet. 
Here  stood  one  bench,  separate  from  all  the 
rest,  which  might  have  held  a  dozen  people, 
but  nobody  sat  there  as  we  first  saw  it.  Be 
tween  two  and  three  hundred  people  were 
scattered  round  among  the  other  benches. 
They  were  all  "  poor  whites,"  children  of  the 
wilderness,  a  class  apart  by  themselves  ;  and 
poverty,  ignorance,  and  loneliness  stared  out 
of  every  sallow  face.  They  all  turned  to  look 
at  us  as  we  entered,  but  it  ,was  with  a  vacant, 
self-absorbed  look,  and  then  their  eyes  went 
back  to  the  platform  and  the  man  who  stood 
on  it,  or  rather  walked  and  leaped  and  stag 
gered  on  it. 

He  was  a  man  between  forty  and  fifty  years 
of  age,  with  a  straggling  beard  and  long  hair ; 
tall,  haggard,  and  hungry-looking,  like  the 
rest ;  but  with  a  light  of  intelligence  in  his 
face  and  a  consciousness  of  power  in  his 
bearing  that  set  him  above  his  auditors.  He 
was  accustomed  to  public  speaking ;  his  voice 
was  harsh  and  unpleasant,  but  strong  and 


72      "AS  ONE  HAVING  AUTHORITY" 

clear,  and  in  spite  of  its  disagreeable  quality 
it  had  certain  curiously  caressing  and  per 
suasive  tones  in  it.  We  did  not  need  to 
study  the  dumb,  brute-like  interest  of  the 
faces  of  his  hearers  to  know  that  this  man 
had  laid  a  spell  upon  their  dull  spirits,  and 
that  he  spoke  to  each  one  as  if  they  stood 
hand-in-hand. 

"  Oh,  my  brethren,"  he  cried,  raising  his 
long  arms  high  in  air,  and  throwing  his  lank 
frame  forward  in  convulsive  excitement ;  "  oh, 
my  sisters,  the  hour  is  nigh  at  hand — the 
hour  of  grace — the  hour  of  deliverance  !  For 
three  days  have  we  labored  here,  for  three 
days  have  we  sought  and  struggled  and 
prayed  for  the  blessing  to  come,  and  no  an 
swer  has  come.  But  now  it's  coming,  it's 
coming,  it's  coming,  sinners;  I  know  it's 
coming !  I  feel  it  right  here  in  my  heart ! 
Oh,  glory,  hallelujah !  Call  with  me,  all  of 
you,  for  it's  nigh  at  hand !  Salvation's  right 
over  you,  right  by  your  side  !  It's  touching 
you  right  now !  Call  with  me !  Oh,  Glory ! 
Glory !  Glory  ! " 

A  few  weak  cries  came  up  from  the  outer 
edges  of  the  throng. 

"  That  won't  do,"  shouted  the  revivalist, 


"AS  ONE  HAVING  AUTHORITY"      73 

waving  his  arms  in  the  air  and  beating  the 
platform  with  his  feet,  "that  won't  do!  I 
want  you  all  to  shout  with  me  !  I  want  you 
to  shout  so  that  the  Lord  hears  you !  Now 
once  more  !  Glory  !  Glory  !  " 

"  Glory  !  "  thundered  Jack  McMarsters, 
next  to  me. 

"  Be  quiet,  you  devil,"  I  whispered,  grasp 
ing  him  by  the  arm. 

"  Got  to  help  them  out,"  said  Jack. 
"Glory!  Glory!" 

And  as  his  big  voice  rang  out  upon  the  air 
the  whole  crowd  followed  him  as  if  a  sudden 
madness  had  seized  them,  and  the  torches 
flickered  as  one  wild,  deafening  shout  of 
"  Glory !  Glory !  Glory !  "  rose  up  to  the 
bleak  sky. 

The  sweat  poured  down  the  preacher's  face 
as  he  joined  in  the  shout,  quivering  from 
head  to  foot. 

"  That's  it !  "  he  fairly  yelled.  "  I  knew  it 
was  coming !  I  knew  it  had  to  come !  Now, 
who  is  the  first  to  come  forward  ?  Who  is 
the  first  to  come  to  this  bench  ?  Who  is  the 
first  to  come  to  this  throne  of  glory  and  be 
born  again?  Oh,  don't  wait,  don't  linger  an 
instant,  or  the  moment  may  be  forever  lost  I 


74      "AS  ONE  HAVING  AUTHORITY" 

Hell  eternal  or  eternal  life !  Who  is  the  first  ? 
Who  is  the  first  to  save  a  soul  from  eternal 
hell?" 

He  stretched  his  arms  out  as  if  he  were 
feeling  for  something  in  space.  Suddenly 
the  long  fore-finger  of  his  right  hand  pointed 
directly  at  a  sickly  looking  woman  on  a 
near-by  bench. 

"  Oh,  my  sister !  "  he  cried  out,  "  do  you 
feel  it  ?  has  it  come  to  you  ?  Are  you  the 
first  on  whom  the  Lord  has  descended  ? 
Come  forward,  come  forward !  Come  to  the 
seat  of  those  who  wait  for  the  Lord — come ! " 

The  woman  arose,  and  slowly  and  feebly, 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  face  of  the  preacher, 
she  came  forward  as  one  who  had  no  power 
to  resist. 

"I  knew  it,  I  knew  it!"  the  revivalist 
shouted.  "Come  forward,  my  sister,  and 
when  you  have  touched  that  blessed  bench 
grace  will  come  to  you  as  your  soul  wrestles 
in  agony.  I  can  see  it  working.  I  can  see 
the  hand  of  the  Lord  upon  you !  " 

The  woman  reached  the  bench  as  he  spoke, 
and  touched  it  with  her  thin,  quivering  hand, 
and  a  hysterical  shriek,  horrible  to  hear, 
burst  from  her.  Every  figure  in  the  crowd 


"AS  ONE  HAVING  AUTHORITY"     75 

behind  her  bent  forward,  and  cries  of  "  Glory ! 
Glory  !  "  rent  the  air.  But  none  came  from 
Jack  this  time,  for  the  woman  was  lying  on 
her  back  across  the  bench,  her  poor,  thin  form 
writhing  and  twisting,  clasping  and  unclasping 
her  hands  until  her  nails  tore  the  worn  flesh. 

I  looked  on  with  a  shuddering  sickness. 
My  brain  whirled.  I  could  not  make  myself 
believe  that  it  was  real,  that  it  was  true,  that 
I  saw  this  thing  going  on  before  my  eyes. 
Then  I  became  conscious  of  a  sensation  of 
acute  physical  pain,  and,  looking  down,  I  saw 
that  the  Bishop  had  grasped  my  wrist,  and 
that  his  strong  fingers  had  closed  on  it  in  a 
grip  that  seemed  to  drive  the  flesh  into  the 
bone.  I  understood  what  that  grasp  meant 
when  I  looked  at  his  face.  He  was  pale  as 
death,  and  the  features  were  fixed  in  a  stern 
ness  that  struck  cold  to  my  heart. 

And  all  this  time  the  revivalist  shouted  to 
the  sobbing,  swaying  crowd. 

"Come,"  he  cried,  "come,  all  who  would 
be  saved  from  hell !  Here  is  one  who  has 
the  grace.  "Who  will  join  her?  Who  will 
save  his  soul  to-night  ?  This  is  the  only 
way,  and  this  may  be  the  only  moment] 
Who  comes  forward  for  salvation  ?  " 


7C      "AS  ONE  HAVING  AUTHORITY11 

The  Bishop  was  breathing  heavily,  with 
long,  trembling  breaths,  but  I  noticed  that 
his  expression  had  changed.  It  was  no 
longer  stern.  It  was  strange  and  sad,  and 
his  look  was  fixed  on  something  far  away — 
far  beyond  the  blackness  of  the  black  woods 
behind  the  madman  who  shrieked  upon  the 
platform.  I  felt  a  sudden  fear,  and  turned 
toward  Jack. 

He  was  not  by  my  side.  I  looked  round 
and  saw  him  at  the  rail  that  enclosed  the 
clearing.  He  was  placing  a  white-faced  child 
in  a  woman's  arms,  and  I  saw  by  his  gestures 
that  he  was  forcing  her  to  leave  that  place  of 
horror.  In  a  moment  he  was  back,  and,  with 
one  glance  at  me,  he  sat  down  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Bishop  and  laid  his  steady  hand 
on  the  old  man's  arm. 

"  Come !  "  screamed  the  man  on  the  plat 
form.  "  Come  and  choose  between  the  Lord 
and  hell !  Every  soul  here  is  hanging  over 
the  fires  of  hell  eternal.  Come  and  be 
saved  ! " 

But  already,  on  the  bench,  under  it,  and  on 
all  sides  of  it  lay  a  score  of  struggling,  agon 
ized  human  beings,  beating  the  ground,  tear 
ing  their  very  flesh  in  the  exaltation  of  fear 


"AS  ONE  HAVING  AUTHORITY"      77 

and  frenzy,  choking,  gasping ;  and  through  it 
all,  shrieking  mad  and  awful  appeals  to  the 
Most  High ;  while  the  crowd  around  them, 
all  on  their  feet,  shouted  and  yelled  in  inco 
herent  delirium. 

"  Come !  come  !  "  the  voice  on  the  platform 
rose  above  the  din.  "  Be  saved  while  there 
is  yet  time." 

"ALMIGHTY   GOD— 

My  heart  stood  still.  The  Bishop  had 
risen  to  his  feet,  and  his  gigantic  figure  tow 
ered  up  as  he  spread  out  his  hands  above  the 
crowd ;  and,  as  his  deep  tones  rang  out  clear 
and  dominant  in  that  hideous  Babel,  a  sud 
den  silence  fell  upon  them  all. 

" THE  FATHER  OF  OUR  LORD  JESUS 

CHRIST,  WHO  DESIRETH  NOT  THE  DEATH  OF  A 
SINNER,  BUT  RATHER  THAT  HE  MAY  TURN  FROM 
HIS  WICKEDNESS  AND  LIVE,  HATH  GIVEN  POWER, 
AND  COMMANDMENT,  TO  HIS  MINISTERS,  TO  DE 
CLARE  AND  PRONOUNCE  TO  HIS  PEOPLE,  BEING 
PENITENT,  THE  ABSOLUTION  AND  REMISSION  OF 
THEIR  SINS.  HE  PARDONETH  AND  ABSOLVETH 
ALL  THOSE  WHO  TRULY  REPENT,  AND  UNFEIGN- 
EDLY  BELIEVE  HIS  HOLY  GOSPEL." 

The  madness  had  gone — utterly  gone — out 
of  that  stricken  throng.  The  struggling  fig- 


78      "AS  ONE  HAVING  AUTHORITY" 

ures  around  the  bench  ceased  to  struggle. 
They  raised  their  heads  as  they  lay  upon  the 
ground,  and  every  face  in  the  clearing  was 
turned  toward  the  Bishop,  wearing  a  look  of 
eager  wonderment  which  I  shall  never  forget. 
The  Bishop,  his  eyes  still  far  away,  his  hands 
stretched  out  over  the  people,  went  on  : 
"—  —WHEREFORE  LET  us  BESEECH  HIM  TO 

GRANT  US  TRUE  REPENTANCE,  AND  HIS  HOLY 
SPIRIT,  THAT  THOSE  THINGS  MAY  PLEASE  HIM 
WHICH  WE  DO  AT  THIS  PRESENT  J  AND  THAT  THE 
REST  OF  OUR  LIFE  HEREAFTER  MAY  BE  PURE 
AND  HOLY  ;  SO  THAT  AT  THE  LAST  WE  MAY  COME 
TO  HIS  ETERNAL  JOY  J  THROUGH  JESUS  CHRIST 
OUR  LORD." 

And  the  people  answered,  "  Arnen." 
When  he  had  finished  he  steadied  himself 
by  my  shoulder,  at  first  with  a  nervous  press 
ure  ;  but  in  a  moment  I  felt  the  tension  of 
his  muscles  relax.  Then,  in  a  v&ce  that  was 
almost  feeble,  so  tender  had  it  grown,  he 
turned  toward  the  East,  and,  in  that  abiding 
silence,  he  pronounced  the  Benediction. 

For  a  moment,  until  they  began  to  disperse 
softly  and  silently,  the  Bishop  stood  erect, 
then  he  sank  back  into  his  seat,  with  one  arm 
around  my  neck  and  one  around  Jack's. 


THE   BISHOP,    HIS   EYES    STILL   FAR   AWAY,   HIS   HANDS    STRETCHED  OUT 
OVER   THE   PEOPLE,  WENT   ON  " 


CRAZY  WIFE'S  SHIP 


CRAZY  WIFE'S  SHIP 


"  T  CAN'T  see  for  the  rain.  Who— that  there 
1  going  up  the  hill  ?  Why,  I  thought  you 
knew  most  everybody  on  the  island  by  this 
time !  I'd  have  thought  you'd  known  her, 
anyway.  Why,  that's  old  Mis'  Bint  —  the 
aunt  of  all  that  tribe  of  Bints  that  live  just 
near  Calais.  No,  Mr.  Woglom,  that  isn't 
the  least*  bit  what  I  was  looking  for.  That 
isn't  pa'm  leaf — anyway,  not  what  we  used  to 
call  pa'm  leaf.  Why,  now,  it's  strange  you 
don't  know  Mis'  Bint — and  you  so  well  ac 
quainted  around  here  too.  Why,  you  had 
ought  to  write  her  up  in  some  of  your  papers 
— hadn't  he,  Mr.  Woglom  ?  It's  quite  some 
of  a  story,  if  only  anybody  knew  how  to  fix 
it  up  the  right  way,  sost  it  would  go  in  the 
newspapers.  Why,  I  should  have  thought 
you'd  have  remarked  her  mourning ! " 

I  could  not  help  remarking  her  mourning 
now,  at  all  events.     I  watched  her  struggling 

6 


82  CRAZY  WIFE'S  SHIP 

up  the  bleak  island  hillside,  passing  in  and 
out  of  sight  among  the  scraggly  pines;  and 
such  a  grimly  fantastic  figure,  so  swathed 
and  swaddled  and  hung  about  and  decked  on 
with  crape  and  stiff  old-fashioned  black 
stuffs,  I  had  never  before  seen.  Her  veil 
projected  on  each  side  of  her  head  as  though 
her  big  old-fashioned  bonnet  were  rigged  out 
with  stun-sail  booms.  The  wind  buffeted 
her;  the  rain  drenched  her  in  angry  little 
spats,  first  to  starboard  and  then  to  port,  but 
she  tacked  steadily  on  up  the  hill,  with  all 
her  voluminous  garments  flapping  bravely,  as 
stiff  and  black  as  sheet-iron.  I  was  watch 
ing  her  through  the  one  clear  pane  in  the 
window  of  Mr.  Woglom's  general  store.  Tar 
paulins,  rubber  boots,  sou' westers,  fishing- 
tackle,  scap-nets,  school-books,  suspenders, 
overalls,  garden  tools,  horse  medicine,  mos 
quito-netting,  lanterns,  and  other  general- 
store  stock,  including  the  accursed  lottery 
ticket,  which  is  for  sale  in  Maine  everywhere 
where  anything  is  sold,  filled  up  the  rest  of 
the  window.  I  was  waiting  for  the  squall  to 
blow  over.  Miss  Cynthiana  Lovejoy,  who 
accommodated  me  with  board  and  lodging 
during  my  stay  on  the  island,  had  happened 


CRAZY  WIFE'S  SHIP  83 

in  and  was  casually  examining  the  new  in 
voice  of  calicoes  from  New  York,  in  search, 
Mr.  Woglom  confidentially  told  me,  of  a  pat 
tern  which  she  had  wanted  for  at  least  a 
generation,  and  which  had  been  two  genera 
tions  out  of  the  market. 

"  Now  what  year  was  it,  do  you  remember, 
Mr.  Woglom,  when  Obed  Bint's  ship  was  lost 
in  that  gale  when  the  big  whale  come  ashore  ? 
No,  I  don't  mean  Isaac  Bint ;  I  mean  Obed 
Bint,  Isaac's  son — the  young  man — that  is, 
he  wouldn't  be  so  dreadful  young  to-day  if 
he'd  lived — most  fifty  now,  I  should  think. 
Mr.  Woglom,  that  ain't  any  more  pa'm  leaf 
than  I'm  pa'm  leaf. 

"  Sixty-seven  ?  Well,  now,  I  wouldn't  have 
thought  it  was  so  far  back  as  sixty-seven. 
Laud's  sake,  how  time  does  go !  Yes,  that's 
something  like  the  pattern,  but  'tisn't  just  it. 
Only  I  can't  draw  at  all,  I  could  draw  that 
pattern  for  you  just  as  clear  as  day.  Well, 
now,  it  doesn't  seem  so  long.  But  I  guess 
you're  right,  Mr.  Woglom.  That  was  just 
the  year  that  I  bought  the  first  piece  of 
magenta  poplin  I  ever  saw,  off  your  father. 
My,  I  thought  I  was  made !  Father,  he  used 
to  call  it  my  whale  dross,  because  he  paid  for 


84  CRAZT    WIFE'S  SHIP 

it  out  of  the  money  lie  made  off  that  whale. 
It  came  ashore  right  on  his  beach. 

"  That  was  a  real  bad  storm,  Mr.  Wog- 
lom,  if  you  recollect.  Let  me  see — there 
was  Obed  Bint's  boat,  and  Plum  Davis's 
boat,  and  the  two  Daw  brothers,  their  boat, 
and  that  man  who  lived  on  Three  Acre 
Island,  what  was  his  name,  now? — oh,  yes, 
Wilkinson — well,  there  was  his  boat,  too; 
not  a  one  of  them  came  back.  Every  one 
of  those  boats  was  lost  in  that  gale.  At 
least,  not  a  one  of  them  ever  came  in.  Aw 
ful,  wa'n't  it? 

"  Well,  now,  what  I  was  going  to  tell  you 
about  Mis'  Bint  that  was  so  queer  was  just 
this,  and  I  thought  you  might  make  sort  of  a 
story  of  it,  if  you  could  only  fix  it  up  some 
way  sost  it  would  read  well.  It  was  this 
way.  Obed,  he  married  just  before  he  made 
his  first  trip  on  his  own  boat — married  a  girl 
he  met  at  Eastport  the  year  he  went  over 
there  to  go  to  a  dancing-school  they  had  there 
— 'twa'n't  much  of  a  concern,  I  guess,  but  it 
was  the  best  they  was.  She  was  a  real  nice 
little  thing,  and  pretty  too,  and  clever  to 
everybody.  She  made  friends  with  lots  of 
people.  I  remember  it  was  real  gay  on  the 


CRAZY  WIFE'S  SHIP  85 

island  that  year;  there  was  two  or  three 
other  young  married  couples  too. 

"  Well,  as  I  was  telling  you,  that  big  whale 
— my !  he  was  a  monstrous  big  thing ! — that 
whale  came  up  on  our  beach  the  same  gale 
Obed  Bint's  boat  was  lost  in.  And  of  course 
we  had  to  attend  to  the  whale  right  off,  and 
cut  him  up  before  he'd  spoil,  and — I  don't 
know — but  it  took  quite  some  time,  and  in 
consequence  we  didn't  get  over  to  see  Mis' 
Bint  as  much  as  we  had  ought  to;  'twa'n't 
that  we  didn't  want  to;  but  there  was  the 
whale,  don't  you  see? 

"Dear  me,  Mr.  Woglom,  I  can  remember 
that  magenta  dress  just  the  same  as  if  it  was 
yesterday !  I  remember  how  I  bought  it  off 
your  father  on  this  very  counter.  I  remem 
ber  just  what  he  says  when  he  sold  it  to  me. 
Says  he,  'You'll  look  just  like  that  piny  bed 
up  to  Widow  Pierson's  when  you  get  that 
on,'  says  he.  Why,  it  wa'n't  no  more  like  the 
color  of  pinies  than  nothing  at  all.  Your 
father  hadn't  what  folks  call  an  eye  for  color, 
Mr.  Woglom. 

"Now,  what  ivas  I  saying?  Oh  yes!  I 
know !  I  had  that  magenta  dress  on  the  first 
day  that  I  ever  looked  across  the  cove  from 


8G  CRAZY   WIFE'S  SHIP 

my  father's  house  to  the  meadow  lot  under 
the  light-house,  and  saw  Mis'  Bint  and 
Obed's  wife  setting  there  looking  out  to  sea 
as  if  they's  expecting  something.  My  great- 
grandmother,  my  father's  grandmother,  that 
is,  she  was  alive  then,  and  she  was  a  real 
queer  old  lady.  She'd  sit  in  an  old  splint-bot 
tomed  chair  by  the  chimney  all  day  long  and 
never  say  a  word — only  set  bolt-upright  and 
smoke  an  old  corn-cob  pipe  just  like  a  man. 
I  don't  know  what  made  me  speak  to  her 
when  I  saw  Mis'  Bint  and  Obed's  wife  settin' 
there  under  the  light-house,  but  I  did,  some 
how.  Says  I,  'Granny,  there's  Mis'  Bint 
and  Obed's  wife  under  the  light-house  look 
ing  out  to  sea.  What  do  you  think  they're 
looking  for  ?  '  says  I. 

" '  Crazy  wife's  ship,'  says  she,  short,  just 
like  that,  and  she  didn't  say  another  thing 
that  day.  That  was  a  way  she  had;  she 
didn't  often  say  anything,  but  when  she  did 
say  something  she  was  real  curious. 

"I  don't  know  whether  it  was  an  old- 
fashioned  saying  or  something  she  made  up 
herself,  but  it  gave  me  a  real  sort  of  a  turn. 
And  that  afternoon  I  went  over  to  Mis'  Bint's, 
that  is,  my  mother  and  I  did.  They  lived 


CRAZY    WIFE'S  SHIP  87 

quite  a  piece  away  on  the  other  side  of  the 
cove,  but  our  two  families  had  always  been 
first-rate  friends,  and  my  father  had  taught 
Obed  Bint  all  he  knew  about  navigation. 
"Well,  you  may  imagine  it  took  us  all  aback 
when  old  Mis'  Bint  met  us  at  the  gate,  and 
we  saw  right  away  that  she  wa'n't  going 
to  let  us  in.  That  was  the  first  time  I  ever 
saw  or  heard  of  neighbors  quarrelling  on  the 
island — I've  seen  enough  since,  but  I  was  only 
a  young  slip  of  a  girl  then,  and  it  did  seem 
perfectly  dreadful  to  me.  Mis'  Bint  she 
talked — oh,  she  talked  quite  violently,  and 
reproached  us  for  not  coming  sooner,  and  as 
much  as  said  she  wanted  to  have  done  with 
us  for  good  and  all.  My  mother — she  was  a 
very  proud  woman — she  never  answered  her 
back  at  all,  but  she  just  took  me  by  the  hand 
and  told  me  to  come  along,  and  we  started 
for  home.  I  didn't  dare  say  anything ;  I  was 
most  too  frightened  to  speak.  And  mother 
she  didn't  say  a  word,  but  just  walked  right 
on  leading  me  by  the  hand  as  if  I  was  a 
baby. 

"  Going  back  we  met  old  Mr.  Starbuck,  the 
one  who  used  to  live  in  the  red  house  down 
by  the  Point.  He  was  about  the  only  near 


88  CRAZY  WIFE'S  SHIP 

neighbor  the  Bints  had — between  'em  I  guess 
they  owned  pretty  much  all  that  end  of  the 
island. 

"  *  Hello ! '  says  he,  when  he  saw  my  mother. 
'  Been  to  call  on  me  ?  ' 

"  *  What  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Starbuck  ? '  says 
my  mother,  for  she  didn't  know  what  to  make 
of  his  asking  such  a  question. 

" '  Why,'  he  says,  '  I  supposed  you'd  been 
to  my  house.  I  understand  folks  ain't  ad 
mitted  anywheres  else  in  this  neighborhood.' 

"  We  didn't  understand  him  just  then,  but 
we  did  when  we  got  down  to  the  village  and 
heard  the  talk  that  was  going  on.  You  never 
heard  anything  so  queer  in  all  your  life.  It 
was  a  real  nine-days'  wonder,  as  the  saying  is. 
It  seemed  that  old  Mis'  Bint  had  picked  a 
quarrel  with  everybody  on  the  island,  on  one 
pretext  or  another,  so  that  there  wa'n't  one 
that  she  hadn't,  so  to  speak,  shut  her  doors 
on.  Dreadful  queer  behavior !  With  one  it 
was  one  thing  and  with  another  it  was  some 
thing  different,  but  it  all  came  to  pretty  much 
the  same  in  the  end — she  wa'n't  on  speaking 
terms  with  hardly  a  soul  in  the  place,  and 
there  she  was,  living  up  on  the  Point  with 
not  a  neighbor  to  go  near  her,  mewed  up 


GRAZT  WIFE'S  SHIP  89 

all  alone  there  with  Melindy — that  was 
Obed's  wife's  name.  Everybody  was  sorry 
for  the  poor  little  clever  creature,  for  Mis' 
Bint  wa'n't  a  cheerful  woman  the  best  of 
times,  and  when  she  ivas  vexed,  my !  she 
was  vexed. 

"  But  then,  of  course,  we  couldn't  do  any 
thing,  she  kept  Melindy  so  close — wouldn't 
let  her  stir  anywheres  without  her,  and  it 
got  so  at  last  that  she  wouldn't  hardly  let 
her  go  out  at  all. 

"  Of  course  we  all  made  out  that  the  loss 
of  her  son  had  turned  her  mind,  and  people 
was  all  the  more  sorry  for  Melindy  on  that 
account.  She  pined  away  dreadfully  too ; 
lost  all  her  good  looks,  and  got  real  peaked. 

"  For  one  thing,  her  mother-in-law  would 
never  let  her  wear  mourning,  nor  Mis'  Bint 
wouldn't  wear  a  stitch  of  black  herself.  That's 
what  made  folks  say  she  was  crazy  first  off;  for 
though  there's  lots  of  people  here  who  won't 
wear  mourning  clothes  on  principle,  old  Mis' 
Bint  come  from  Calais,  and  she  was  a  Bint 
by  birth,  too,  before  she  married  Isaac  Bint ; 
and  all  those  Bints,  the  whole  stock  of  them, 
were  just  sot  on  dressing  all  out  in  black, 
every  cousin  that  died.  She  was  real  par- 


90  CRAZY   WIFE'S  SHIP 

ticular  about  her  dress,  Mis'  Bint  was.  I 
think  folks  was  generally  more  particular  in 
those  days.  I  know  there  ain't  any  patterns 
nowadays  like  that  old  pa'm-leaf  pattern ;  not 
so  nice,  that  is,  to  my  taste. 

"  Of  course  Mis'  Bint  didn't  drop  out  like 
that  without  being  considerable  missed.  Me- 
lindy  was  kind  of  new  to  the  town,  but  her 
mother-in-law  was  a  good  deal  looked  up  to. 
She  was  a  great  housekeeper  for  one  thing, 
and  when  there  was  anything  going  on — I 
mean  sociably — weddings  and  funerals,  for 
instance,  people  always  use  to  a  sort  of  de 
pend  on  Mis'  Bint.  And  then  she  was  a 
master-hand  at  nursing  sick  folks  and  tak 
ing  care  of  young  children,  and  altogether 
people  missed  her — quite  some.  Mr.  Wog- 
lom,  if  you  can't  show  me  those  dress  goods 
yourself,  don't  bother  to  put  that  boy  of 
yours  at  it,  for  you  just  might  as  well  not.  I 
don't  believe  he  knows  gingham  from  goose- 
grease. 

"Let  me  see,  I  guess  it  must  have  been 
two-three  years,  maybe  four,  that  I  found 
out  the  rights  of  the  matter,  and  just  acci- 
dently,  as  you  might  say.  The  light-house  I 
was  telling  you  about  was  away  at  the  far 


CRAZY  WIFE'S  SHIP  91 

end  of  the  Point,  and  nobody  hardly  ever 
went  there,  except,  of  course,  the  man  who 
kept  the  light,  and  he  was  a  Portugee  or 
something — some  kind  of  a  foreigner  any 
way,  and  didn't  talk  much  English.  But  ever 
since  she  began  to  act  so  queer,  old  Mis' 
Bint  had  made  a  regular  practice  of  going 
down  there  and  setting  with  her  daughter-in- 
law — oh,  my !  for  hours  at  a  time,  and  every 
day,  too,  in  all  sorts  of  weather.  I  don't  be 
lieve  anybody  knew  about  it,  though,  except 
our  folks,  for  you  could  see  them  where  they 
sat  from  our  kitchen  window,  but  not  from 
much  of  any  place  else.  And  as  for  my 
mother,  from  the  day  old  Mis'  Bint  spoke 
sharp  to  her  to  the  day  of  her  death,  she 
never  mentioned  the  name  of  Bint,  and  you 
may  believe  I  wouldn't  have  dared  to  men 
tion  it  to  her.  The  way  it  happened  was 
this,  and  it  was  kind  of  funny.  I  had  a  lit 
tle  green  parrot  about  that  long.  A  sailor 
uncle  of  mine  brought  it  to  me  from  Java, 
somewheres  in  the  tropics — my  Uncle  Hiram, 
one  of  my  mother's  folks ;  he  died  young, 
and  I  guess  there  ain't  anybody  remembers 
him  now,  without  it's  me,  and  I  don't  believe 
I'd  ever  think  of  him  if  it  wa'n't  for  that  par- 


92  CRAZY  WIFE'S  SHIP 

rot.  It  was  a  cute  little  thing,  and  I  set  a 
heap  by  it,  though  it  couldn't  talk,  and  it  was 
dreadful  misc/^'evous.  It  died,  in  the  end, 
of  swallowing  a  needle-book.  "Well,  as  I  was 
saying,  that  bird  got  loose  one  awful  bleak 
day  in  November,  and  ran  right  along  the 
shore  of  the  cove,  and  made  straight  to  Bint's 
place,  and  me  after  it,  you'd  better  believe, 
running  just  as  hard  as  I  could  tear.  And 
you  wouldn't  have  thought  a  little  thing  could 
get  over  such  a  lot  of  ground  so  amazing  fast. 
It  was  clean  over  in  Mis'  Bint's  cow-pasture 
before  I  caught  it,  and  then  I  started  for 
home  real  frightened,  for  I  didn't  know  what 
my  mother  would  say  to  me  if  she  ever  knew 
I'd  been  anywheres  on  land  belonging  to  the 
Bints.  She  was  dreadful  strict  sometimes, 
my  mother  was. 

"  Well,  just  by  good  luck,  nobody  saw  me, 
and  I  come  back  by  the  short-cut  across  the 
Point  under  the  light-house.  And  would  you 
believe  it,  just  as  I  got  under  that  sand  bank 
there  with  the  swallows'  nests  in  it — you  can 
see  'em  from  here — that  dratted  parrot  got 
away  from  me  again ;  and  I  was  so  tuckered 
out  what  with  the  running  and  the  fright  and 
the  disappointment  and  all  that — it  sounds 


CRAZY  WIFE'S  SHIP  93 

kinder  foolish  now,  don't  it? — I  just  laid 
right  down  there  on  the  sand  and  cried  as  if 
I  was  going  to  cry  my  eyes  out. 

"  And  while  I  was  lying  there  and  crying 
fit  to  break  my  heart,  the  first  thing  I  knew  I 
heard  people's  voices  talking  on  the  bank 
above  me.  I  couldn't  see  them,  and  at  first 
I  thought  it  was  some  of  our  folks  come  after 
me,  and  I  was  worse  scared  than  ever,  and 
just  laid  quiet,  not  knowing  what  to  do.  Then 
I  recognized  Mis'  Bint's  voice  and  Melindy's, 
though,  as  I  say,  I  hadn't  spoken  a  word  to 
either  of  them  in  three-four  years,  but  you 
may  fancy  it  sent  a  real  cold  chill  down  my 
back  when  I  heard  old  Mis'  Bint  say,  in  a 
perfectly  peaceful,  ca'm,  natural  way,  just  as 
I  am  talking  to  you  now : 

"  '  No,  dearie ;  Obed  can't  get  in  on  that 
wind.  He'll  most  likely  lay  to  on  t'other 
side  of  South  Island,  and  come  up  with  the 
tide  in  the  morning.' 

" '  But  he'll  come  in  the  morning  sure, 
won't  he,  ma  ?  '  says  Melindy ;  and  it  gave 
me  an  awful  funny  creepy  feeling  to  hear  her, 
for  she  talked  a  sort  of  innocent,  something 
like  a  little  child. 

1  "  Oh  yes,'  says  old  Mis'  Bint.    '  Obed  will 


94  CRAZY  WIFE'S  SHIP 

come  in  the  morning  sure.  You'd  better  be 
thinking  of  getting  a  good  breakfast  for  him.' 

"  '  Yes,'  says  Melindy  ;  '  picked-up  codfish. 
Obed  always  was  great  for  picked-up  cod 
fish.' 

"  Well,  if  I  was  scared  before,  I  was  scared 
worse  than  ever  now.  Why,  it  was  just  the 
unnaturalist  thing  that  you  ever  could  form 
a  notion  of,  setting  there  and  hearing  those 
two  women  talking  about  getting  breakfast 
for  a  man  who  had  been  lying  four  years  at 
the  bottom  of  the  sea.  It  'most  made  my 
blood  run  cold ;  but  of  course  I  didn't  dare 
to  stir,  and  I  just  had  to  set  there  and  listen 
while  they  laid  out  the  breakfast  they  was  go 
ing  to  get  ready  for  him — picked-up  codfish 
and  mock  mince-pie  and  I  don't  know  what 
all.  And  then  they  talked  about  how  soon 
he'd  be  rested  enough  to  feel  like  taking  a 
journey  up  the  river  to  Bucksport  to  pay  a 
visit  to  his  Uncle  John.  My !  his  Uncle  John 
'd  been  dead  two  years. 

"  I  don't  know  what  it  was  I  did  at  last  that 
attracted  their  attention.  I  guess  I  must 
have  coughed  or  something,  because  Mis' 
Bint  she  called  out  suddenly,  *  What's  that? ' 
and  looked  over  the  sand  bank  and  saw  me. 


CRAZY   WIFE'S  SHIP  95 

I  wasn't  so  scared  then  but  what  I  got  straight 
up  and  started  to  run.  But  Mis'  Bint  she  just 
came  down  and  caught  me  by  the  arm,  and 
walked  ine  quite  a  ways  down  the  beach  be 
fore  she  said  a  word.  Then  she  talked  right 
close  to  my  ear  sost  I  could  hear  her,  but 
Melindy  couldn't. 

"  '  You  think  I'm  a  lunatic,'  she  says. 

"  '  Yes,  ma'am,'  I  says.  I  didn't  know  what 
to  say,  but  I  was  a  real  truthful  child. 

"  '  Well,  I  ain't,'  says  Mis'  Bint.  Tin  as 
sane  as  you  are.  But  she's  an  idiot,  and  she's 
been  so  ever  since  the  night  of  the  big  gale  ; 
and  I've  kep'  up  the  delusion  in  her  mind  that 
Obed\s  corning  home,'  says  she.  '  I've  en 
couraged  her  in  it,  because  if  I  didn't  she 
wouldn't  live  a  week.' 

"  Then  she  looked  at  me  real  hard  for 
a  minute,  and  then  she  said  : 

"  '  That's  why  I  don't  want  folks  around. 
You're  John  Lovejoy's  daughter,  ain't  you  ?  ' 
says  she. 

"  '  Yes,  ma'am,'  says  I. 

" '  Well,'  says  she,  '  you've  seen  the  afflic 
tion  the  Lord's  visited  upon  me.  Now  what 
you  going  to  do  ?  Tell  folks  ? ' 

"  Then  I  spunked  up.     I  guess  she  knew  I 


96  CRAZY   WIFE'S  SHIP 

would.  '  Mis'  Bint,'  says  I,  '  I  guess  our 
folks  'ain't  meddled  with  your  affairs  very 
lately,  and  I  don't  think,'  says  I,  '  that  we're 
going  to  begin  now,'  I  told  her.  And  with 
that  I  walked  away.  I  was  real  mad. 

"  And  do  you  know,  it  was  the  funniest 
thing.  I  hadn't  gone  more  than  a  hundred 
yards  when  what  should  I  see  but  that 
parrot  a-hopping  along  in  front  of  me,  head 
ing  for  home  across  the  sand.  He  was 
dreadful  little,  but  I  could  see  him  a  long 
ways  off ;  he  was  such  a  bright  green  against 
the  beach,  and  the  day  was  kinder  gray  too, 
sost  he  showed  up  quite  some.  It  was  a 
green  something  like  that  pattern,  Mr.  Wog- 
lom,  but  with  more  yellow  into  it. 

"And  I  never  did  say  one  word  about  it 
for  the  longest  time.  But  maybe  three-four 
years  after  that  Melindy  fell  kind  of  sick,  and 
they  had  to  send  for  a  doctor,  and  then  some 
how  it  all  came  out.  But  it  didn't  do  any 
harm,  I  guess,  for  Melindy  wa'n't  sick  long. 
She  died  that  January,  and  the  first  boat 
that  got  through  the  ice  to  the  mainland 
that  spring  old  Mis'  Bint  went  over  on  it  to 
Eastport,  and  when  she  come  back  she  had 
the  greatest  lot  of  mourning  clothes  that 


CRAZY  WIFE'S  SHIP  97 

I  guess  most  any  woman  ever  had.  She's 
taken  some  of  it  off  since  then,  and  they  don't 
wear  skirts  so  full  now,  so  you  don't  notice  it 
so  much,  but  still  she  wears  considerable — 
enough  to  notice,  I  should  think.  But  they 
do  say  she's  a  great  deal  more  sociable  now — 
though,  my !  I  don't  know.  /  'ain't  spoken  to 
her  since. 

"No,  Mr.  Woglom,"  concluded  Miss  Cyn- 
thiana,  as  she  felt  the  edge  of  the  last  piece 
of  calico  between  her  thumb  and  her  fore 
finger,  "  you  needn't  trouble  yourself  to  show 
me  anything  more.  I  don't  believe  you've 
got  the  real  pa'm  leaf  anyway.  Though  I 
was  in  hopes  you  might  have  had  it,  you've 
talked  so  much  of  getting  it  for  me  so  many 
times.  Does  Mis'  Bint  buy  her  mourning  of 
you  now,  or  does  she  still  go  to  Eastport  for 
it?  But  wa'n't  it  curious,  my  finding  that 
parrot  again  that  way  ?  " 

Between  the  legs  of  a  pendent  pair  of  wad- 
ing-boots  I  peered  out  of  the  dripping 
window,  looking  at  the  crest  of  the  storm- 
swept  hill,  and  caught  a  last  glimpse  of  the 
gaunt  black  figure  tacking  against  the  wind, 
funereal  and  lonely. 
7 


FRENCH    FOR    A 
FORTNIGHT 


FRENCH   FOR  A 
FORTNIGHT 


,    dear!"  said    the    Eeverend    Mr. 
Pentagon.     "  Oh,  dear !    Oh,  dear! 
Oh,  dear!" 

Then  he  tossed  uneasily  upon  his  neat 
white  bed,  and  ground  his  broad  shoulders 
into  its  snowy  depths.  He  looked  out  of  the 
window,  and  saw,  through  the  pale  green 
panes  of  flint  glass  a  bough  of  darker  green 
bob  up  and  down,  shaking  off  great  drops  of 
rain  as  the  last  gust  of  the  summer  rain 
storm  agitated  it  and  gently  subsided.  Be 
yond,  the  gray  sky,  that  had  but  now  been 
weeping,  was  slowly  growing  blue  ;  not  smil 
ing  yet,  but  tearfully  clearing  up  to  tranquil 
brightness.  To  people  not  in  an  unpleasant 
frame  of  mind  it  might  have  suggested  the 
face  of  a  child  coming  out  of  a  crying  spell. 
To  the  Reverend  Mr.  Pentagon,  who  was  in  a 


FRENCH  FOR  A  FORTNIGHT 


very  unpleasant  frame  of  mind,  it  suggested 
nothing  beyond  the  fact  that  he  had  to  wait 
before  he  could  walk  out  under  the  blue  sky. 
He  stared  and  tossed,  and  stared  and  tossed 
again,  and  once  more  he  said,  explosively  : 

"Oh,  dear!" 

If  the  Recording  Angel  sets  down  our 
words  according  to  what  they  mean  to  our 
hearts  rather  than  by  their  dictionary  mean 
ing,  he  credited  the  Reverend  Mr.  Penta 
gon's  account  with  a  right,  good,  healthy  bit 
of  profanity  on  the  score  of  that  last  "  Oh, 
dear  !  "  And,  indeed,  if  he  had  said  some  awf  ul 
thing  with  "  Damn  "  in  it,  he  could  not  have 
meant  anything  worse.  For  the  Reverend 
Mr.  Pentagon  was  lying  in  bed  and  thinking 
of  the  days  that  had  dropped  out  of  his  life 
during  a  long  period  of  unconsciousness  and 
delirium. 

"  Fifteen  days,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  Fif 
teen  days!  Oh,  dear!  Oh,  dear!  Oh, 
dear!"  ' 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Pentagon  was  a  clergy 
man  of  culture  and  understanding,  who,  writ 
ing  and  preaching  from  a  small  provincial 
city  in  Massachusetts,  had  made  a  name  for 


i  FRENCH  FOR  A  FORTNIGHT        103 

himself  all  over  the  country,  and  indeed  wher 
ever  the  old  Church  of  England  points  its 
spires  toward  the  sky,  or  drops  earthward  the 
clangor  of  its  square  belfries.  So  great  had 
grown  his  fame  that  when  he  gave  up  the 
charge  he  had  held  for  fifteen  years,  be 
ing  forced  thereto  by  ill  health,  and,  go 
ing  into  the  Canada  woods,  was,  in  the 
course  of  one  summer,  recovered  of  fifteen 
years  of  dyspepsia,  why,  it  so  happened  that 
this  modest  provincial  parson  found  himself 
given  to  understand  that  if  a  certain  series  of 
sermons  which  he  was  invited  to  deliver  in 
New  York  should  please  the  congregation  to 
whom  they  were  addressed,  he  would  in  all 
probability  be  called  to  fill  the  pulpit  of  one 
of  the  great  city's  fashionable  churches.  It 
was  a  very  old,  a  very  rich,  a  very  exclusive 
church.  The  old  Hector  was  about  to  resign 
by  reason  of  his  age  :  not  wholly  to  the  re 
gret  of  certain  members  of  his  congregation, 
who  found  that  in  the  years  of  his  steward 
ship  the  dear  old  gentleman  had  "  slowly 
broadened  down  from  precedent  to  prece 
dent  "  until  he  was  almost  as  broad  and  char 
itable  as  the  New  Testament  itself.  So,  nat 
urally,  they  wanted  a  man  who,  if  he  had  to 


104         FRENCH  FOR  A   FORTNIGHT 

broaden  down,  would  start  from  a  higher 
plane  of  orthodoxy,  and  such  a  man  they  were 
sure  they  had  found  in  the  Eeverend  Mr.  Pen 
tagon. 

So,  too,  Mr.  Pentagon  thought,  and  he 
came  down  from  the  Canada  woods,  and  in  a 
pretty  little  town  among  the  rocks  of  the 
Maine  coast  set  himself  to  write  his  series  of 
sermons.  There  were  to  be  six  in  the  series, 
but  I  know  the  heads  of  only  three  of  them. 
The  first  was  "  On  the  Reciprocal  Duties  of 
the  Church  and  the  Pastor."  The  second  was 
"  On  the  Duty  of  Church-going."  The  third 
was  entitled,  "  On  the  Duty  of  a  Strict  Ob 
servance  of  the  Sabbath." 

It  was  while  he  was  writing  this  sermon 
that  the  Eeverend  Mr.  Pentagon  chanced  to 
ask  himself  whether  it  would  not  be  well  for 
the  rector  of  a  NewYork  church  to  know  some 
thing  about  New  York.  He  had  had  enough 
acquaintance  with  Boston,  which  he  consid 
ered  a  large  city,  to  grasp  the  idea  that  large 
cities  have  ways  of  their  own  which  they  are 
not  at  all  inclined  to  change  at  the  pleasure  of 
the  casual  stranger.  Moreover,  Mr.  Pentagon 
was  a  man  whose  native  habit  of  mind  was 
liberal  enough,  and  he  happened  to  be  free 


FRENCH  FOR  A   FORTNIGHT         105 

from  the  usual  intolerant  provincial  hatred  of 
big  cities.  And  he  made  up  his  mind  that  he 
would  go  at  once,  all  by  himself,  to  see  what 
New  York  was  like.  He  had  been  in  New 
York,  of  course,  but  only  to  stay  for  a  few 
days  at  a  boarding-house  with  a  delegation  of 
his  own  townspeople  at  the  time  of  a  great 
convention  of  the  Church. 

He  knew  that  New  York  was  almost  intol 
erably  hot  in  summer-time,  and  so  he  con 
ceived  for  himself  the  notion  of  a  resting- 
place  in  the  suburbs,  from  whence  he  could 
make  brief  incursions  into  the  body  of  the 
town,  coining  back  at  night  to  the  green  fields 
and  fresh  air.  He  consulted  with  his  brother 
of  the  local  church,  a  Portland  man  who  had 
been  in  New  York  in  1874,  who  gave  him  just 
the  address  he  wanted — a  nice,  quiet  little 
place  in  Westckester  County,  on  the  Bronx 
River,  where  he  could  board  most  comforta 
bly  at  next  to  nothing. 

Clergymen  are  wonderfully  like  sheep  in 
many  things.  The  Reverend  Mr.  Pentagon 
packed  a  large  old-fashioned  travelling  bag — 
of  course — and  set  out  for  the  nice  place  on  the 
Bronx  River.  He  found  it  readily  enough, 
for  there  was  only  one  other  house  within  five 


106         FRENCH  FOR  A    FORTNIGHT 

miles.  It  had  been  ail  excellent  house,  but  it 
was  now  getting  along  without  doors  or  win 
dows,  in  a  sad  and  paintless  old  age.  The  fam 
ily  that  had  entertained  his  clerical  friend  so 
hospitably  in  the  year  1874,  had  moved  out 
in  the  year  1875,  and  the  house  had  had  no 
tenant  since.  This  much  he  learned  of  the  man 
of  the  other  house,  who  was  a  fat  and  kindly 
French  tavern-keeper,  with  the  reddest  of 
faces  and  the  whitest  of  aprons,  and  an 
amount  of  politeness  that  made  the  Reverend 
Mr.  Pentagon  feel  more  awkward  than  he  had 
felt  since  he  was  a  little  boy  at  school  and  got 
up  on  the  platform  to  speak  his  little  piece 
just  as  the  four  awful  school  inspectors 
dropped  in  on  a  sudden  visit  of  inspection. 
On  that  occasion,  he  remembered,  his  little 
bare  legs  felt  as  if  they  had  ten  joints  in 
each  one  of  them,  and  he  certainly  had  four 
teen  fingers  on  each  hand. 

As  awkward  as  a  child  and  as  lonely  as  a 
lost  child,  the  Reverend  Mr.  Pentagon  stood 
.  in  front  of  the  house  of  Monsieur  Perot  and 
stared  blankly  at  the  inn  and  at  the  landlord 
until  an  idea  slowly  crept  into  his  mind.  The 
inn  looked  very  clean  and  neat.  It  was  an 
odd  little  old-fashioned  structure  with  green 


'.     C«s'a 


WHY   MIGHT   NOT   THE   REVEREND   MR,    PENTAGON   TAKE   LODGINGS   AT   THE 
INN  OF   MONSIEUR   PEROT  ? 


FRENCH  FOR  A  FORTNIGHT        107 

palings  and  trellises  stuck  about  it  in  various 
places,  and  it  overhung  the  margin  of  the 
placid  Bronx  and  mirrored  its  whitewashed 
front  in  the  calm  stream.  The  landlord's  face 
inspired  confidence — so,  too,  did  a  smell  of 
crisp,  clean  cooking  that  came  from  the 
kitchen  of  Madame  Perot.  Why  might  not  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Pentagon  take  lodgings  at  the 
inn  of  Monsieur  Perot  ?  There  was  no  rea 
son  why  he  might  not,  and  in  the  end  he 
did. 

Very  comfortable  he  found  himself,  and 
very  friendly  were  the  famille  Perot ;  and  a 
multitudinous  family  they  were.  Mr.  Penta 
gon  never  succeeded  in  taking  the  census  of 
them  all,  which  need  not  be  wondered  at  when 
it  is  said  that  the  eleventh  infant  of  Monsieur 
and  Madame  Perot  was  exactly  of  the  same 
age  as  the  third  child  of  their  first  married 
daughter.  And  all  of  them,  of  every  age  and 
size,  were  polite  by  birth  and  inheritance,  and 
took  a  cheerful  view  of  life. 

The  first  day  of  his  arrival,  which  was  a 
Saturday,  Mr.  Pentagon  took  out  his  unfin 
ished  sermon,  meaning  to  set  to  work.  Then 
he  read  it  over,  and  it  struck  him  that  really 
it  was  so  very  strong,  especially  the  passage 


108         FRENCH  FOR  A  FORTNIGHT 

in  denunciation  of  the  Continental  Sabbath, 
that  he  really  ought  to  wait  until  he  found 
himself  in  just  the  proper  spirit  to  go  on  with 
it.  He  had  a  feeling  of  chastened  pride  in 
the  thought  that  he  had  denounced  that  sinful 
Continental  Sabbath  very  aptly  indeed  for  a 
man  who  had  never  seen  it.  So  that  day  he 
went  for  a  walk  and  saw  some  of  the  pretty 
places  which  are  too  near  to  New  York  for 
most  New  Yorkers  to  visit.  The  next  day  was 
Sunday,  and  he  went  into  the  City  and  wor 
shipped  at  Trinity,  and  on  his  way  home  went 
out  of  his  course  to  view  the  great  church  to 
which  he  expected  to  be  called,  and  stood  and 
looked  at  its  closed  doors ;  and  his  heart  beat 
hard. 

On  Monday  he  went  to  New  York  again, 
and  again  on  Tuesday,  and  again  on  Wednes 
day,  and  again  on  Thursday.  Hither  and 
thither  he  wandered,  bewildered  at  first,  then 
fascinated.  The  cosmopolitan  variety  of  the 
life  amazed  and  interested  him.  He  had  a 
slight  book-knowledge  of  several  languages, 
and  in  his  ramblings  he  heard  them  all  and 
many  that  he  could  not  recognize.  On  Fri 
day  he  stumbled  on  the  Polish  quarter  in 
Attorney  Street  and  thereabouts,  and  then, 


FRENCH  FOR  A  FORTNIGHT        109 

strolling  aimlessly  on,  got  into  Mulberry 
Bend  and  was  suddenly  seized  with  a  nervous 
fright  at  the  swarming  vastness  of  that  mighty 
ant-hill.  He  gazed  about  him  at  the  count 
less  foreign  faces  that  streamed  this  way  and 
that  through  the  narrow  pass ;  he  blinked  at 
the  marvellous  street-stands  with  their  wild 
confusion  of  reds  and  greens  and  whites ;  he 
looked  up  at  the  thin  strip  of  blue  sky  be 
tween  the  tops  of  the  towering  tenements ; 
and  then  his  eye  fell  upon  the  huge  form  of 
the  Irish  policeman  who  sauntered  grandly 
through  all  this  bustle  and  turmoil  of  agile 
Italians,  and  he  said  to  him : 

"  Do  you  think  that  any  of  these  people 
would  offer  me  violence  if  I  were  to  proceed 
farther  along  this  street  ?  " 

The  policeman  looked  down  at  him  kindly, 
but  from  an  infinite  height  of  scorn. 

"  An'  ME  here  ?  "  he  said. 

Mr.  Pentagon  went  on  unmolested,  and 
before  he  had  reached  the  end  of  the  street 
he  had  some  glimmering  realization  of  the 
fact  that  it  was  not  only  the  big  policeman 
who  was  keeping  order  for  him,  but  the  spirit 
of  good-natured,  happy,  all-expectant  indus 
try  that  is  the  salvation  of  the  poor  whose 


110         FRENCH  FOR  A   FORTNIGHT 

feet  are  on  the  road  that  may  lead  to  prosper 
ity  if  they  will  but  keep  to  it.  But  not  then, 
not  till  long,  long  afterward,  did  Mr.  Penta 
gon  learn  the  awful  difference  between  the 
hopeful  and  the  hopeless  poor. 

Friday  found  the  Reverend  Mr.  Pentagon 
tired  and  footsore,  with  not  one  word  added  to 
the  sermon  "  On  the  Duty  of  a  Strict  Observ 
ance  of  the  Sabbath."  Then,  having  lain  on 
his  lounge  all  day  Friday,  of  course  he  needed 
a  little  exercise  on  Saturday.  He  thought  he 
would  take  a  row.  He  had  rowed  at  college, 
and  once  or  twice  on  the  broad  river  that  ran 
by  the  town  that  had  been  his  home  for  fif 
teen  years. 

But  he  had  never  rowed  on  the  Bronx, 
and  the  Bronx  is  a  river  that  requires  a 
special  education  for  its  navigation.  It 
winds,  it  twists,  it  turns,  it  doubles  upon  it 
self,  it  spreads  out  into  a  pond,  it  contracts 
to  a  mere  thread  of  water ;  in  fact  it  is  the 
most  capricious  and  absurd  little  water-course 
on  the  face  of  the  civilized  globe. 

And  so  it  happened  that  Mr.  Pentagon, 
coming  around  a  turn  with  an  unnecessarily 
powerful  stroke,  and  with  his  body  thrown 


FRENCH  FOR  A  FORTNIGHT        111 

back,  ran  into  a  stone  bridge,  struck  his 
head  full  on  the  spring  of  the  arch,  and  went 
backward  into  his  boat,  unconscious  of  every 
thing  in  this  world,  save  a  dim  sense  of  grind 
ing  pain,  and  of  alternate  heat  and  chill. 

After  this  came  a  long  period  when  he  had 
a  certain  fitful  knowledge  of  things  and  peo 
ple  about  him.  He  saw  faces — the  faces  of 
the  elder  members  of  the  Perot  family,  the 
red  good-natured  face  of  Monsieur  Perot,  the 
kindly  withered  face  of  his  old  wife,  the  sweet 
and  pretty  face  of  the  married  daughter ;  now 
and  then  wondering  faces  of  children  looking 
in  at  the  doorway,  and  at  certain  regular  in 
tervals  a  man's  face,  grave  and  gentle,  with 
searching  eyes  that  were  somehow  connected 
in  his  mind  with  the  word  "  Doctor." 

Then  came  the  time  when  he  awoke  to 
know  that  he  had  been  sick  nigh  unto  death, 
and  out  of  his  head,  and  out  of  this  world 
more  or  less,  for  a  period  of  days.  When  he 
asked  how  many,  the  Doctor  answered  him 
evasively,  and  he  fretted  over  the  evasion 
with  all  the  futile  insistence  of  a  convales 
cent.  He  could  learn  nothing  from  Madame 
Perot,  who  could  have  made  a  professional 
cross-examiner  change  any  given  subject  for 


112         FRENCH  FOR  A  FORTNIGHT 

any  other  one  he  did  not  want.  But  at  last 
he  caught  Monsieur  Perot  and  bullied  him 
into  an  admission.  Perot  would  not  abso 
lutely  defy  the  Doctor's  orders,  but  in  the 
end,  being  in  an  agony  of  perspiration  and 
trepidation,  he  told  Mr.  Pentagon  that  he 
might  calculate  the  rest  for  himself ;  it  was 
now  fifteen  days  since  the  reverend  gentle 
man  had  honored  the  house  with  his  pres 
ence. 

"Quinze  jours,"  said  the  Keverend  Mr. 
Pentagon  to  himself,  "Saturday,  Sunday, 
Monday,  Tuesday  " — and  he  went  on  count 
ing  on  his  fingers.  "  Why,  to-day  must  be 
Sunday ! " 

Even  as  he  spoke  a  church  bell  tinkled 
faintly  in  the  distance.  It  tinkled  long  enough 
to  remind  the  Reverend  Mr.  Pentagon  that 
instead  of  scolding  at  the  week  that  lay  be 
fore  him,  it  behooved  him  to  thank  the  Lord 
for  his  deliverance,  and  he  accordingly  did  so, 
without  the  aid  of  his  Book  of  Common 
Prayer;  for  his  injury  had  somewhat  en 
dangered  his  eyesight,  and  he  was  absolutely 
forbidden  to  read. 

Mr.  Pentagon  was  a  strong,  healthy,  tern- 


FRENCH  FOR  A  FORTNIGHT         113 

perate  man ;  and  lie  made  a  most  rapid  re 
covery.  To  be  more  exact  it  was  soon  to  be 
seen  that  his  case  would  have  no  sequelce,  as 
the  good,  grave  Doctor  loved  to  call  the  sec 
ondary  consequences  of  an  ailment.  Instead 
of  a  week,  he  was  kept  but  a  day  longer  in 
bed,  and  two  days  in  his  room,  and  after  that 
he  was  allowed  to  wander  the  whole  day  long 
under  Monsieur  Perot's  cherry-trees,  or  to 
sun  himself  on  the  little  veranda  overlooking 
the  stream.  He  could  not  read,  which  tried 
him  a  little,  but  his  young  friends  of  the  in 
numerable  tribe  of  Perot  made  life  bearable, 
in  fact,  delightful  for  him.  His  French,  what 
there  was  of  it,  was  of  what  might  be  called 
the  passive  sort ;  and  he  understood  perhaps 
one  word  in  three  of  what  the  elder  Perots 
said  to  him.  But  the  children,  as  is  often 
the  case  with  Franco-American  youngsters, 
spoke  two  languages  with  equal  fluency  and 
incorrectness,  and  moreover  combined  the 
two  as  they  saw  fit.  Thus  Mr.  Pentagon 
conversed  with  them  in  a  sort  of  Pigeon-Eng 
lish,  or  lingua  franca,  after  this  fashion  : 

ME.  PENTAGON. — Kee  ay  ploorong,  Mah- 
ree? 


114      FRENCH  FOR  A  FORTNIGHT 

MARIE  ANGELIQUE  EULALIE  BOSE  ETIENNE 
PEROT  (aged  seven). — Mais,  m'sieu,  c'est  Toto 
qui  pleure,  parce  qu'il  a  tveeste  la  tail  a  la 
chatte,  et  puis  papa  lui  a  fetehee  des  gifles." 

That's  what  the  beautiful  language  of 
France  comes  to  on  the  banks  of  the  winding 
Bronx. 

Mr.  Pentagon  had  never  married,  he  had 
no  near  kin,  and  he  was  not  in  the  habit  of 
keeping  up  close  correspondence  with  even 
the  best  of  his  many  friends.  But  when  he 
awoke  on  the  third  morning  of  his  convales 
cence  as  an  externe,  he  reflected  that  he  must 
very  soon  find  some  way  of  notifying  those 
who  cared  for  him  of  his  present  condition 
and  whereabouts.  He  thought  he  would  ask 
the  Doctor,  who  still  came  to  see  him  once  a 
day,  if  he  would  not  write  the  requisite .  let 
ters  for  him.  The  Doctor  was  a  serious  man, 
his  face  was  almost  sad  in  its  thoughtfulness, 
and  he  was  chary  of  speech  to  the  verge  of 
taciturnity ;  but  there  was  an  earnest  kindli 
ness  in  his  thoughtful  eyes  which  made  Mr. 
Pentagon  feel  sure  that  he  would  write  the 
letters,  and  would  write  them  well. 

Much   cheered  by  this  conclusion  he  fin* 


FRENCH  FOR  A  FORTNIGHT        115 

ished  his  dressing  and  was  about  to  start 
downstairs,  when  the  door  opened  and  he  be 
held  Monsieur  Perot,  in  gorgeous  attire,  with 
a  large  tri-colored  bouquet  in  his  buttonhole  ; 
Madame  Perot  in  her  very  best  dress  with 
a  marvellous  and  complicated  white  cap  on 
her  gray  head,  and  the  married  daughter, 
with  her  husband,  both  costumed  in  the  most 
advanced  art  of  the  Bowery.  Behind  them, 
like  the  incidental  cherubs  with  which  the 
Old  Masters  used  to  fill  up  the  odd  corners  of 
their  canvases,  surged  a  selected  group  of 
small  Perots,  the  girls  all  in  white  dresses 
with  big  sashes,  and  the  boys  all  in  white 
shirts  with  tri-colored  neckties. 

There  was  a  flood,  a  deluge,  an  explosion 
of  French,  and  after  Mr.  Pentagon  had  strug 
gled  with  it  for  some  time,  and  had  been 
helped  out  by  the  younger  members  of  the 
delegation,  he  got  it  through  his  head  that  he 
was  invited  to  join  the  Perot  family  at  the 
Summer  Festival  of  the  French  Society  to 
which  they  belonged,  this  festival  being  a 
combined  fete  and  pique-nique  at  Tompkin- 
son's  Summer-Garden  Park,  a  paradise  of  un 
speakable  delights  situated  in  the  immediate 
neighborhood. 


116         FRENCH  FOR  A  FORTNIGHT 

It  would  have  been  impossible  for  Mr.  Pen 
tagon  to  refuse,  if  he  had  wished  to  refuse, 
which  he  did  not  in  the  least. 

"  I  ought  to  see  about  the  letters,"  he  re 
flected  ;  "  but  then,  this  being  Saturday,  they 
could  not  go  until  Monday,  and  I  need  miss 
only  a  single  mail.  And  really  I  must  not 
lose  this  opportunity  of  seeing  what  a  French 
Festival  is  like." 

Three  country  stages  of  vast  age  and  of 
unlimited  capacity  transported  the  Perot 
family  through  clouds  of  dust  to  Mr.  Tomp- 
kinson's  Garden,  which  was  shut  off  from  the 
rest  of  the  world  by  a  high  yellow  fence. 
Through  a  gateway  decked  with  the  fluttering 
flags  of  all  nations  and  of  several  defunct  yacht- 
clubs,  the  party  was  whirled,  in  such  a  tumult 
of  joyous  shouting  and  shrieking  as  Mr.  Pen 
tagon  had  never  in  his  life  heard  before. 
His  head  whirled  with  it,  and  it  was  with  the 
sense  of  being  in  a  dream  that  he  found  him 
self  seated  at  a  table  under  a  tree,  drinking  a 
milky  sweet  stuff  called  orgeat,  and  by  the 
aid  of  a  spoon  sharing  his  beverage  with  a 
warm  and  sticky  little  Perot,  who  had  perched 
on  his  left  knee.  In  front  of  them  a  com 
pany  of  eleven  amateur  soldiers,  attired  in 


r«  ,  C  Mm 


MR.  PENTAGON  OPENED   HIS   EYES   WIDE   TO   TAKE   IN   THE   UNACCUSTOMED 

SCENE 


FRENCH  FOR  A  FORTNIGHT         117 

uniforms  that  would  have  made  Solomon  in 
all  his  glory  look  like  a  Quaker,  performed 
evolutions  of  a  mysterious  and  rapid  nature, 
looking  extremely  fierce  all  the  while,  and 
thumping  the  butts  of  their  guns  on  the 
ground  every  now  and  then,  with  a  snort  of 
defiance.  This  done,  they  mopped  their  hot 
faces,  accepted  the  congratulations  of  the  Pe 
rot  family  with  smiling  satisfaction,  took  off 
their  hats  and  bowed  in  the  politest  way,  and 
went  off  somewhere  else  to  do  it  again. 

In  every  direction  somebody  was  doing 
something.  The  "  Park  "  was  a  poor  bare 
place,  with  dusty  trees,  and  dry  and  faded 
grass,  and  the  little  booths  that  lined  its  yel 
low  walls  were  old  and  weatherbeaten,  and 
their  sparse  decorations  of  red,  white,  and 
blue  bunting  were  pitifully  faded  with  sun 
and  rain.  But  the  people  made  it  gay — the 
swarms  of  happy  holidaying  folk,  some  of 
them  in  quaint,  old-world  costumes,  some  of 
them  in  brilliant  uniforms  of  designs  that 
would  have  looked  equally  strange  on  either 
side  of  the  water — all  of  them  wearing  hot 
and  smiling  faces.  Mr.  Pentagon  opened  his 
eyes  wide  to  take  in  the  unaccustomed  scene. 
The  women's  caps  were  wonderful  to  him ;  so 


118         FRENCH  FOR  A  FORTNIGHT 

were  the  waistcoats  of  the  men.  As  to  the 
various  sports  and  games,  he  had  never 
dreamed  that  there  were  so  many  ways  of 
amusing  one's  self  in  the  world.  There 
were  shooting-galleries,  and  merry-go-rounds, 
and  "Aunt  Sallies,"  and  the  tiniest  little 
switch-back  railway,  which  was  labelled  in 
letters  as  big  as  itself,  "  A ux  Montagues  Eus- 
ses."  And  in  every  little  open  space  of  the 
extensive  grounds  there  was  a  club  or  a  soci 
ety,  or  a  league,  or  a  group,  or  some  other 
aggregation  of  from  six  to  a  dozen  young  men, 
practising  some  athletic  sports  with  infinite 
perspiration  and  ardor.  The  fencers  fenced, 
the  strong  men  lifted  their  heavy  weights,  the 
military  companies  drilled,  the  athletes  tum 
bled  and  twisted,  and  climbed,  and  ran,  and 
turned  hand-springs ;  and  the  sportsmen  and 
sharp-shooters  shot,  and  shot,  and  shot,  till 
their  popping  fairly  peppered  the  general 
hum  and  buzz  as  if  the  place  were  undergo 
ing  a  miniature  bombardment. 

And  when  nature  needed  refreshment  or 
stimulus,  one  bottle  of  thin  blue  wine  sufficed 
for  the  needs  of  any  six  of  the  participants ; 
some  of  them,  more  ascetic,  indeed,  preferred 
lemonade,  and  shunned  the  wine-cup. 


FRENCH  FOR  A  FORTNIGHT        119 

Before  long  Mr.  Pentagon  found  himself  in 
the  very  thick  of  it.  He  was  introduced  to 
everybody,  and  everybody  made  him  wel 
come.  As  an  American,  he  was  regarded  as 
a  prime  authority  upon  "  le  sport"  and  he 
was  called  upon  to  act  as  umpire  and  referee 
in  all  manner  of  contests,  most  of  them  wholly 
strange  to  him.  His  umpiring  must  have 
been  fearful  and  wonderful ;  but  as  the  wild 
est  of  his  decisions  gave  perfect  satisfaction 
to  everybody  concerned,  he  was  none  the 
wiser.  Then  he  got  so  interested  that  he  be 
gan  to  take  a  hand  in  some  of  the  milder 
sports,  and  with  his  hat  on  the  back  of  his 
head,  and  his  clerical  necktie  twisted  around 
under  one  ear,  he  showed  what  an  able-bod 
ied  American  clergyman  can  do  when  he  puts 
his  whole  mind  on  the  noble  game  of  ring- 
toss.  And  when  Madame  Perot  came  to  tell 
him  it  was  time  to  go  home,  she  found  him 
hand  in  hand  with  a  string  of  little  Perots 
and  their  playmates,  capering  clumsily  but 
cheerfully  to  the  tune  of 

"  Sur  le  pont  d' Avignon, 
Tout  le  monde  y  dause,  danse, 

Sur  le  pout  d'Avignon, 
Tout  le  monde  y  dause  en  rond." 


120         FRENCH  FOR  A  FORTNIGHT 

As  he  approached  the  gate,  weary  but 
happy,  he  met  the  Doctor,  who  bore  in  his 
face  a  look  more  bright  and  more  kindly 
(if  that  could  be)  than  Mr.  Pentagon  had 
ever  seen  there  before.  The  Doctor  shook 
Mr.  Pentagon  warmly  by  the  hand. 

"  My  dear  sir,"  he  said,  "  I  cannot  tell  you 
how  pleased  I  am  to  see  you  here.  I  am 
afraid  I  should  have  expected  to  find  you 
literally  and  figuratively  on  the  other  side  of 
the  fence.  I  have  never  yet  been  able  to 
convince  any  one  of  your  cloth  of  the  neces 
sity  of  allowing  to  the  working  people  con 
fined  in  great  cities  a  chance  for  innocent 
and  wholesome  recreation  on  the  one  day 
that  they  can  call  their  own.  The  workman 
in  this  country,  and  especially  in  New  York, 
works  harder  and  has  fewer  holidays  than 
any  workman  in  civilization.  What  with  the 
climate  and  his  three  meals  of  meat  a  day,  he 
has  a  tremendous  head  of  steam  on,  and  the 
standard  of  work  which  he  makes  for  him 
self  is  such  as  no  European  employer  would 
dare  set  up  for  his  operatives.  To  con 
demn  such  a  man  to  absolute  idleness  and 
inactivity  one  day  in  seven  ;  to  take  his  beer 
from  him  on  that  one  day ;  to  shut  him  out  of 


FRENCH  FOR  A  FORTNIGHT         121 

every  place  of  innocent  enjoyment  in  a  city 
that  is  tropically  hot  in  summer,  and  cold  as 
Eussia  in  winter,  and  that  has  only  one  nar 
row  outlet  to  country  walks,  is  cruel,  my 
dear  sir — positively  cruel.  And  when  you 
lend  the  sanction  of  your  presence  to  Sunday 
amusements,  so  innocent  and  helpful  as  these, 
you  are  helping  hundreds  and  thousands  of 
stunted  lives,  and  doing  more  good  than  your 
own  eyes  can  see.  Look  around  you !  Is 
there  drunkenness  here  ?  Is  there  dissolute 
conduct  or  disorder?  Why,  my  dear  sir, 
these  people  are  not  only  good  citizens,  but 
devout  members  of  their  own  church — it  is 
not  yours  or  mine,  but  it  is  theirs.  They  have 
been  to  early  mass,  and  finished  their  de 
votions  before  you  and  I  were  out  of  bed, 

and " 

The  Doctor  was  growing  eloquent,  and 
seemed  to  be  but  just  started  in  his  discourse. 
Somehow  the  Reverend  Mr.  Pentagon,  limp, 
terrified,  white  of  face,  and  weak  as  to  his 
knees,  slipped  away  and  out,  through  the  big 
gate  on  whose  portals  he  saw  for  the  first 
time  two  huge  signs  on  which  he  read  but 
two  words  "F£TE"  and  "DIMANCHE." 


122         FRENCH  FOR  A  FORTNIGHT 

The  next  day  Mr.  Pentagon  went  to  New 
York,  although  he  had  neither  supped  nor 
slept  the  night  before.  He  wanted  to  evade 
the  Doctor's  daily  call,  or  at  least  to  think 
things  over  with  himself  before  he  should 
meet  that  grave  and  thoughtful  face.  He 
was  slowly  and  painfully  walking  down  Fifth 
Avenue,  his  thoughts  turned  in  upon  himself, 
when  he  felt  his  hand  grasped  and  warmly 
shaken.  Lifting  his  eyes,  he  saw  before  him 
a  face  that  gradually  revealed  itself  to  his 
memory  as  the  face  of  the  little  vestryman,  of 
the  great  church  of  his  hopes,  who  had  called 
upon  him  some  months  before  to  suggest  the 
possibility  of  his  coming  to  New  York.  The 
little  man  was  beaming,  and  he  flourished 
a  newspaper. 

"  Good !  good ! "  he  said,  shaking  the  clergy 
man's  hand  up  and  down,  "you  have  done 
nobly,  Mr.  Pentagon  !  It  was  a  daring  thing, 
sir,  very  daring;  but  the  very  audacity  of 
it  has  settled  the  business.  The  conservative 
element  in  our  vestry  is  fairly  frightened  out 
of  the  field.  Why,  sir,  Mr.  McGlaisher,  the 
leader  of  the  Sabbatarian  wing  in  our  church, 
actually  said  that  while  he  could  not  vote  for 
you,  he  would  not  vote  against  you ;  and  that 


FRENCH  FOR  A  FORTNIGHT         123 

lie  could  not  help  respecting  a  man  who 
had  the  courage  of  his  convictions.  You  will 
be  called,  sir,  you  will  be  called;  as  sure 
as  my  name  ain't  McGlaisher." 

And  he  bustled  away,  leaving  the  daily 
paper  in  Mr.  Pentagon's  hands ;  and  Mr. 
Pentagon's  weak  and  blinking  eyes  read  : 

NO  BLUE  LAWS  FOE  HIM! 

THE  REVEREND  MR.   PENTAGON  ATTENDS  A 
SUNDAY  PICNIC. 

AND  DANCES  WITH  THE  BABIES. 
WILL  ST.   PHYLACTERY'S   CALL  HIM  NOW? 

That  evening  the  Reverend  Mr.  Pentagon 
made  a  confession  to  the  Doctor — or  rather 
two  confessions :  one  of  error,  and  one  of 
conversion. 

"But,"  said  he,  "will  you  tell  me  how  it 
was  possible  for  me  to  make  such  an  error? 
The  man  certainly  said  fifteen  days" 

The  Doctor's    amused    smile    broadened. 


124         FRENCH  FOR  A  FORTNIGHT 

"  My  dear  sir,"  he  said,  "  we  Anglo- 
Saxons  think  we  belong  to  the  most  logical 
race  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  and  yet  the 
accurate  little  Frenchman  can  give  us  points 
three  times  out  of  four.  "With  him  a  week  is 
a  week — seven  days — with  us  it  sometimes  is, 
and  sometimes  is  not.  When  you  speak  of 
something  that  happened  '  a  week  ago  this 
Monday,'  you  really  speak  of  a  period  of 
eight  days,  or  a  week  and  the  present  Mon 
day.  The  logical  Frenchman  does  not  even 
think  of  that  space  of  time  as  a  week ;  he 
calls  it  liuit  jours,  in  the  same  way.  On 
the  third  Wednesday  of  your  stay  here,  which 
happened,  by  the  way,  to  be  a  saint's  day  in 
the  Catholic  Church,  Monsieur  Perot  very 
rightly  told  you  that  you  had  been  here 
fifteen  days.  But  with  your  habit  of  count 
ing  '  exclusively,'  as  we  call  our  stupid  fashion, 
you  counted  the  days  done  and  not  the  day 
you  were  in.  You  would  not  have  done  it  if 
you  had  been  calculating  the  date  of  pay 
ment  of  a  note ;  it  was  simply  illogical  habit 
that  counted  for  you.  But  you  see,"  he  con 
cluded,  with  a  little  laugh,  as  he  took  up 
his  hat,  "you  had  been  French  for  a  fort 
night." 


FRENCH  FOR  A  FORTNIGHT         125 

"  Ah,  yes,  I  see,"  said  the  Keverend  Mr. 
Pentagon. 

And  as  he  heard  the  Doctor  close  the  front 
door  behind  him,  he  picked  up  his  half- 
finished  sermon  "  On  the  Duty  of  a  Strict 
Observance  of  the  Sabbath"  and  tore  it  into 
small  pieces. 


THE  RED  SILK  HANDKER 
CHIEF 


THE  RED  SILK  HANDKER 
CHIEF 

THE  yellow  afternoon  sun  came  in  through 
the  long  blank  windows  of  the  room 
wherein  the  Superior  Court  of  the  State  of 
New  York,  Part  II.,  Gillespie,  Judge,  was  in 
session.  The  hour  of  adjournment  was  near 
at  hand,  a  dozen  court-loungers  slouched  on 
the  hard  benches  in  the  attitudes  of  cramped 
carelessness  which  mark  the  familiar  of  the 
halls  of  justice.  Beyond  the  rail  sat  a  dozen 
lawyers  and  lawyers'  clerks,  and  a  dozen 
weary  jurymen.  Above  the  drowsy  silence 
rose  the  nasal  voice  of  the  junior  counsel  for 
the  defence,  who  in  a  high  monotone,  with 
his  faint  eyes  fixed  on  the  paper  in  his  hand, 
was  making  something  like  a  half-a-score  of 
"  requests  to  charge." 

Nobody  paid  attention  to  him.     Two  law 
yers'     clerks     whispered    like     mischievous 
V 


130      TUE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF 

schoolboys,  hiding  behind  a  pile  of  books 
that  towered  upon  a  table.  Junior  counsel 
for  the  plaintiff  chewed  his  pencil  and  took 
advantage  of  his  opportunity  to  familiarize 
himself  with  certain  neglected  passages  of  the 
New  Code.  The  crier,  like  a  half-dormant 
old  spider,  sat  in  his  place  and  watched  a  boy 
who  was  fidgeting  at  the  far  end  of  the 
room,  and  who  looked  as  though  he  wanted  to 
whistle. 

The  jurymen  might  have  been  dream-men, 
vague  creations  of  an  autumn  afternoon's 
doze.  It  was  hard  to  connect  them  with  a 
world  of  life  and  business.  Yet,  gazing  closer, 
you  might  have  seen  that  one  looked  as  if  he 
were  thinking  of  his  dinner,  and  another  as 
if  he  were  thinking  of  the  lost  love  of  his 
youth  ;  and  that  the  expression  on  the  faces 
of  the  others  ranged  from  the  vacant  to  the 
inscrutable.  The  oldest  juror,  at  the  end  of 
the  second  row,  was  sound  asleep.  Every 
one  in  the  court-room,  except  himself,  knew 
it.  No  one  cared. 

Gillespie,  J.,  was  writing  his  acceptance  of 
an  invitation  to  a  dinner  set  for  that  evening 
at  Delmonico's.  He  was  doing  this  in  such 
a  way  that  he  appeared  to  be  taking  copious 


THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF     131 

and  conscientious  notes.  Long  years  on  the 
bench  had  whitened  Judge  Gillespie's  hair, 
and  taught  him  how  to  do  this.  His  seem 
ing  attentiveness  much  encouraged  the  coun 
sel  for  the  defence,  whose  high-pitched  tone 
rasped  the  air  like  the  buzzing  of  a  bee  that 
has  found  its  way  through  the  slats  of  the 
blind  into  some  darkened  room,  of  a  summer 
noon,  and  that,  as  it  seeks  angrily  for  egress, 
raises  its  shrill  scandalized  protest  against 
the  idleness  and  the  pleasant  gloom. 

"  We  r' quest  y'r  Honor  t'  charge  :  First,  't 
forcible  entry  does  not  const'oot  tresp'ss, 
'nless  intent's  proved.  Thus,  'f  a  man  rolls 
down  a  bank " 

But  the  judge's  thoughts  were  in  the 
private  supper -room  at  Delmonico's.  He 
had  no  interest  in  the  sad  fate  of  the  hero 
of  the  supposititious  case,  who  had  been 
obliged,  by  a  strange  and  ingenious  combina 
tion  of  accidents,  to  make  violent  entrance, 
incidentally  damaging  the  persons  and  prop 
erty  of  others,  into  the  lands  and  tenements 
of  his  neighbor. 

And  further  away  yet  the  droning  lawyer 
had  set  a-travelling  the  thoughts  of  Horace 
Walpole,  clerk  for  Messrs.  Weeden,  Snowden 


132      THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF 

&  Gilf eatlier ;  for  the  young  man  sat  with 
his  elbows  on  the  table,  his  head  in  his 
hands,  a  sad  half-smile  on  his  lips,  and  his 
brown  eyes  looking  through  vacancy  to  St. 
Lawrence  County,  New  York. 

He  saw  a  great,  shabby  old  house,  shabby 
with  the  awful  shabbiness  of  a  sham  grandeur 
laid  bare  by  time  and  mocked  by  the  pitiless 
weather.  There  was  a  great  sham  Grecian 
portico  at  one  end ;  the  white  paint  was  well- 
nigh  washed  away,  and  the  rain -streaked 
wooden  pillars  seemed  to  be  weeping  tears 
of  penitence  for  having  lied  about  them 
selves  and  pretended  to  be  marble. 

The  battened  walls  were  cracked  and 
blistered.  The  Grecian  temple  on  the  hillock 
near  looked  much  like  a  tomb,  and  not  at  all 
like  a  summer-house.  The  flower-garden 
was  so  rank  and  ragged,  so  overgrown  with 
weed  and  vine,  that  it  was  spared  the  morti 
fication  of  revealing  its  neglected  maze,  the 
wonder  of  the  county  in  1820.  All  was  sham, 
save  the  decay.  That  was  real;  and  by 
virtue  of  its  decrepitude  the  old  house 
seemed  to  protest  against  modern  contempt, 
as  though  it  said  :  "  I  have  had  my  day.  I 
was  built  when  people  thought  this  sort  of 


THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF     133 

thing  was  the  right  sort  of  thing ;  when  wo 
had  our  own  little  pseudo-classic  renaissance 
in  America.  I  lie  between  the  towns  of 
Aristotle  and  Sabine  Farms.  I  am  a  gentle 
man's  residence,  and  my  name  is  Montevista. 
I  was  built  by  a  prominent  citizen.  You 
need  not  laugh  through  your  lattices,  you 
smug  new  Queen  Anne  cottage,  down  thero 
in  the  valley!  What  will  become  of  you 
when  the  falsehood  is  found  out  of  your 
imitation  bricks  and  your  tiled  roof  of 
shingles,  and  your  stained  glass  that  is  only 
a  sheet  of  transparent  paper  pasted  on  a 
pane  ?  You  are  a  young  sham ;  I  am  an  old 
one.  Have  some  respect  for  age !  " 

Its  age  was  the  crowning  glory  of  the 
estate  of  Montevista.  There  was  nothing 
new  on  the  place  except  a  third  mortgage. 
Yet  had  Montevista  villa  put  forth  a  juster 
claim  to  respect,  it  would  have  said :  "  I  have 
had  my  day.  Where  all  is  desolate  and 
silent  now,  there  was  once  light  and  life. 
Along  these  halls  and  corridors,  the  arteries 
of  my  being,  pulsed  a  hot  blood  of  joyous 
humanity,  fed  with  delicate  fare,  kindled 
with  generous  wine.  Every  corner  under 
my  roof  was  alive  with  love  and  hope  and 


134:      THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF 

ambition.  Great  men  and  dear  women  were 
hero ;  and  the  host  was  great  and  the  hostess 
was  gracious  among  them  all.  The  laughter 
of  children  thrilled  my  gaudily  decked  stucco. 
To-day  an  old  man  walks  up  and  down  my 
lonely  drawing-rooms,  with  bent  head,  mur 
muring  to  himself  odds  and  ends  of  tawdry 
old  eloquence,  wandering  in  a  dead  land  of 
memory,  waiting  till  Death  shall  take  him  by 
the  hand  and  lead  him  out  of  his  ruinous 
house,  out  of  his  ruinous  life." 

Death  had  indeed  come  between  Horace 
and  the  creation  of  his  spiritual  vision. 
Never  again  should  the  old  man  walk,  as  to  the 
boy's  eyes  he  walked  now,  over  the  creaking 
floors,  from  where  the  Nine  Muses  simpered 
on  the  walls  of  the  south  parlor  to  where 
Homer  and  Plutarch,  equally  simpering,  yet 
simpering  with  a  difference — severely  simp 
ering — faced  each  other  across  the  north 
room.  Horace  saw  his  father  stalking  on  his 
accustomed  round,  a  sad,  familiar  figure,  tall 
and  bent.  The  hands  were  clasped  behind 
the  back,  the  chin  was  bowed  on  the  black 
stock ;  but  every  now  and  then  the  thin  form 
drew  itself  straight,  the  fine,  clean-shaven, 
aquiline  face  was  raised,  beaming  with  the 


THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF     135 

ghost  of  an  old  enthusiasm,  and  the  long 
right  arm  was  lifted  high  in  the  air  as  he  be 
gan,  his  sonorous  tones  a  little  tremulous  in 
spite  of  the  restraint  of  old-time  pomposity 
and  deliberation, 

"  Mr.  Speaker,  I  rise ;  " — or,  "  If  your 
Honor  please " 

The  forlorn,  helpless  earnestness  of  this 
mockery  of  life  touched  Horace's  heart ;  and 
yet  he  smiled  to  think  how  different  were  the 
methods  and  manners  of  his  father  from 
those  of  brother  Hooper,  whose  requests  still 
droned  up  to  the  reverberating  hollows  of 
the  roof,  and  there  were  lost  in  a  subdued 
boom  and  snarl  of  echoes  such  as  a  court 
room  only  can  beget. 

Two  generations  ago,  when  the  Honorable 
Horace  Kortlandt  Walpole  was  the  rising 
young  lawyer  of  the  State ;  when  he  was 
known  as  "  the  Golden-Mouthed  Orator  of  St. 
Lawrence  County,"  he  was  in  the  habit  of 
assuming  that  he  owned  whatever  court 
he  practised  in  ;  and,  as  a  rule,  he  was  right. 
The  most  bullock-brained  of  country  judges 
deferred  to  the  brilliant  young  master  of  law 
and  eloquence,  and  his  "  requests  "  were  gen 
erally  accepted  as  commands  and  obeyed 


136      THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF 

as  such.  Of  course  the  great  lawyer,  for 
form's  sake,  threw  a  veil  of  humility  over  his 
deliverances ;  but  even  that  he  rent  to  shreds 
when  the  fire  of  his  eloquence  once  got  fairly 
aglow. 

"  May  it  please  your  Honor !  Before  your 
Honor  exercises  the  sacred  prerogative  of 
your  office — before  your  Honor  performs  the 
sacred  duty  which  the  State  has  given  into 
your  hands — before,  with  that  lucid  genius 
to  which  I  bow  my  head,  you  direct  the 
minds  of  these  twelve  good  men  and  true 
in  the  path  of  strict  judicial  investigation, 
I  ask  your  Honor  to  instruct  them  that  they 
must  bring  to  their  deliberations  that  im 
partial  justice  which  the  laws  of  our  beloved 
country — of  which  no  abler  exponent  than 
your  Honor  has  ever  graced  the  bench — 
which  the  laws  of  our  beloved  country  guar 
antee  to  the  lowest  as  well  as  to  the  loftiest  of 
her  citizens — from  the  President  in  the  Exec 
utive  Mansion  to  the  humble  artisan  at  the 
forge — throughout  this  broad  land,  from  the 
lagoons  of  Louisiana  to  where  the  snow-clad 
forests  of  Maine  hurl  defiance  at  the  descend 
ants  of  Tory  refugees  in  the  barren  wastes  of 
Nova  Scotia " 


THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF     137 

Horace  remembered  every  word  and  every 
gesture  of  that  speech.  He  recalled  even  the 
quick  upward  glance  from  under  the  shaggy 
eyebrows  with  which  his  father  seemed  to 
see  again  the  smirking  judge  catching  at 
the  gross  bait  of  flattery  ;  he  knew  the  little 
pause  which  the  speaker's  memory  had  filled 
with  the  applause  of  an  audience  long  since 
dispersed  to  various  silent  country  grave 
yards  ;  and  he  wondered,  pityingly,  if  it  were 
possible  that  even  in  his  father's  prime  that 
wretched  allusion  to  old  political  hatreds  had 
power  to  stir  the  fire  of  patriotism  in  the 
citizen's  bosom. 

"  Poor  old  father !  "  said  the  boy  to  him 
self.  The  voice  which  had  for  so  many  years 
been  but  an  echo  was  stilled  wholly  now. 
Brief  victory  and  long  defeat  were  nothing 
now  to  the  golden-mouthed  orator. 

"Shall  I  fail  as  he  failed?"  thought 
Horace  :  "  No !  I  can't.  Haven't  I  got  her  to 
work  for?" 

And  then  he  drew  out  of  his  breast-pocket 
a  red  silk  handkerchief  and  turned  it  over  in 
his  hand  with  a  movement  that  concealed  and 
caressed  at  the  same  time. 

It  was  a  very  red   handkerchief.     It  was 


138      THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF 

not  vermilion,  nor  "  cardinal,"  nor  carmine, 
— a  strange  Oriental  idealization  of  blood- 
red  which  lay  well  on  the  soft,  fine,  luxurious 
fabric.  But  it  was  an  unmistakable,  a  shame 
less,  a  barbaric  red. 

And  as  he  looked  at  it,  young  Hitchcock, 
of  Hitchcock  &  Van  Eensselaer,  came  up 
behind  him  and  leaned  over  his  shoulder. 

"Where  did  you  get  the  handkerchief, 
Walpole  ?  "  he  whispered  ;  "  you  ought  to 
hang  that  out  for  an  auction  flag,  and  sell  out 
your  cases." 

Horace  stuffed  it  back  in  his  pocket. 

"You'd  be  glad  enough  to  buy  some  of 
them,  if  you  got  the  show,"  he  returned  ;  but 
the  opportunity  for  a  prolonged  contest  of 
wit  was  cut  short.  The  judge  was  folding  his 
letter,  and  the  nasal  counsel,  having  finished 
his  reading,  stood  gazing  in  doubt  and  trepi 
dation  at  the  bench,  and  asking  himself  why 
his  Honor  had  not  passed  on  each  point 
as  presented.  He  found  out. 

"  Are  you  prepared  to  submit  those  requests 
in  writing  ?  "  demanded  Gillespie,  J.,  sharply 
and  suddenly.  He  knew  well  enough  that 
that  poor  little  nasal,  nervous  junior  counsel 
would  never  have  trusted  himself  to  speak 


THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF      139 

ten  consecutive  sentences  in  court  without 
having  every  word  on  paper  before  him. 

"Ye-yes,"  the  counsel  stammered,  and 
handed  up  his  careful  manuscript. 

"I  will  examine  these  to-night,"  said  his 
Honor,  and,  apparently,  he  made  an  endorse 
ment  on  the  papers.  He  was  really  writing 
the  address  on  the  envelope  of  his  letter. 
Then  there  was  a  stir,  and  a  conversation 
between  the  judge  and  two  or  three  lawyers, 
all  at  once,  which  was  stopped  when  his 
Honor  gave  an  Olympian  nod  to  the  clerk. 

The  crier  arose. 

"  He'  ye !  he'  ye  !  he'  ye !  "  he  shouted 
with  perfunctory  vigor.  "Wall  —  wah  — 
wah  !  "  the  high  ceiling  slapped  back  at  him  ; 
and  he  declaimed,  on  one  note,  a  brief  ad 
dress  to  "Awperns  han  bins"  in  that  court, 
of  which  nothing  was  comprehensible  save 
the  words  "  Monday  next  at  eleven  o'clock." 
And  then  the  court  collectively  rose,  and  in 
dividually  put  on  hats  for  the  most  part  of 
the  sort  called  queer. 

All  the  people  were  chattering  in  low 
voices  ;  chairs  were  moved  noisily,  and  the 
slumbering  juror  opened  his  weary  eyes  and 
troubled  himself  with  an  uncalled-for  effort 


140      THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF 

to  look  as  though  lie  had  been  awake  all  the 
time  and  didn't  like  the  way  things  were 
going,  at  all.  Horace  got  from  the  clerk  the 
papers  for  which  he  had  been  waiting,  and 
was  passing  out,  when  his  Honor  saw  him 
and  hailed  him  with  an  expressive  grunt. 

Gillespie,  J.,  looked  over  his  spectacles  at 
Horace. 

"  Shall  you  see  Judge  Weeden  at  the  of 
fice  ?  Yes  ?  Will  you  have  the  kindness  to 
give  him  this — yes?  If  it's  no  trouble  to 
you,  of  course." 

Gillespie,  J.,  was  not  over-careful  of  the 
feelings  of  lawyers'  clerks,  as  a  rule ;  but  he 
had  that  decent  disinclination  to  act  ultra 
prcescriptum  which  marks  the  attitude  of  the 
well-bred  man  toward  his  inferiors  in  office. 
Pie  knew  that  he  had  no  business  to  use 
Weeden,  Snowden  &  Gilfeather's  clerk  as  a 
messenger  in  his  private  correspondence. 

Horace  understood  him,  took  the  letter, 
and  allowed  himself  a  quiet  smile  when  he 
reached  the  crowded  corridor. 

What  mattered,  he  thought,  as  his  brisk 
feet  clattered  down  the  wide  stairs  of  the 
rotunda,  the  petty  insolence  of  office  now? 
He  was  Gillespie's  messenger  to-day ;  but 


THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF 


had  not  his  young  powers  already  received 
recognition  from  a  greater  than  Gillespie? 
If  Judge  Gillespie  lived  long  enough  he 
should  put  his  gouty  old  legs  under  Judge 
Walpole's  mahogany,  and  prose  over  his  port 
—  yes,  he  should  have  port,  like  the  relic  of 
mellow  old  days  that  he  was  —  of  the  times 
"when  your  father-in-law  and  I,  Walpole, 
were  boys  together." 

Ah,  there  you  have  the  spell  of  the  Red 
Silk  Handkerchief  ! 

It  was  a  wonderful  tale  to  Horace  ;  for  he 
saw  it  in  that  wonderful  light  which  shall 
shine  on  no  man  of  us  more  than  once  in  his 
life  —  on  some  of  us  not  at  all,  Heaven  help 
us  !  —  but,  in  the  telling,  it  is  a  simple  tale  : 

"  The  Golden-Mouthed  Orator  of  St.  Law 
rence  "  was  at  the  height  of  his  fame  in  that 
period  of  storm  and  stress  which  had  the 
civil  war  for  its  climax.  His  misfortune  was 
to  be  drawn  into  a  contest  for  which  he  was 
not  equipped,  and  in  which  he  had  little 
interest.  His  sphere  of  action  was  far  from 
the  battle-ground  of  the  day.  The  intense 
localism  that  bounded  his  knowledge  and  his 
sympathies  had  but  one  break  —  he  had  tasted 
in  his  youth  the  extravagant  hospitality  of 


142      THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF 

the  South,  and  he  held  it  in  grateful  remem 
brance.  So  it  happened  that  he  was  a  trim 
mer — a  moderationist  he  called  himself — a 
man  who  dealt  in  optimistic  generalities,  and 
who  thought  that  if  everybody — the  slaves 
included — would  only  act  temperately  and 
reasonably,  and  view  the  matter  from  the 
stand-point  of  pure  policy,  the  differences  of 
South  and  North  could  be  settled  as  easily  as, 
through  his  own  wise  intervention,  the  old 
turnip-field  feud  of  Farmer  Oliver  and  Farm 
er  Bunker  had  been  wiped  out  of  existence. 

His  admirers  agreed  with  him,  and  they 
sent  him  to  Congress  to  fill  the  unexpired 
short  term  of  their  representative,  who  had 
just  died  in  Washington  of  what  we  now 
know  as  a  malarial  fever.  It  was  not  to  be 
expected,  perhaps,  that  the  Honorable  Mr. 
Walpole  would  succeed  in  putting  a  new  face 
on  the  great  political  question  in  the  course 
of  his  first  term ;  but  they  all  felt  sure  that 
his  first  speech  would  startle  men  who  had 
never  heard  better  than  what  Daniel  Webster 
had  had  to  offer  them. 

But  the  gods  were  against  the  Honorable 
Mr.  Walpole.  On  the  day  set  for  his  great 
effort  there  was  what  the  theatrical  people 


THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF     143 

call  a  counter-attraction.  Majah  Pike  had 
come  up  from  Mizourah,  sah,  to  cane  that 
demn'd  Yankee  hound,  Chahles  Sumnah,  sah, 
— yes,  sah,  to  thrash  him  like  a  dawg,  begad ! 
And  all  Washington  had  turned  out  to  see 
the  performance,  which  was  set  down  for  a 
certain  hour,  in  front  of  Mr.  Sumner's  door. 

There  was  just  a  quorum  when  the  golden- 
mouthed  member  began  his  great  speech, — 
an  inattentive,  chattering  crowd,  that  paid  no 
attention  to  his  rolling  rhetoric  and  rococo 
grandiloquence.  He  told  the  empty  seats 
what  a  great  country  this  was,  and  how  beau 
tiful  was  a  middle  policy,  and  he  illustrated 
this  with  a  quotation  from  Homer,  in  the 
original  Greek  (a  neat  novelty :  Latin  was 
fashionable  for  parliamentary  use  in  Web 
ster's  time),  with,  for  the  benefit -of  the  un 
educated,  the  well-known  translation  by  the 
great  Alexander  Pope,  commencing  : 

u  To  calm  their  passions  with  the  words  of  Age, 
Slow  from  his  seat  arose  the  Pylian  sage, 
Experienced  Nestor,  in  Persuasion  skilled, 
Words  sweet  as  honey  from  his  lips  distilled." 

When  Nestor  and  Mr.  Walpole  closed, 
there  was  no  quorum.  The  member  from 


144:      THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF 

New  Jersey,  who  had  engaged  him  in  debate, 
was  sleeping  the  sleep  of  honorable  intoxica 
tion  in  his  seat.  Outside,  all  Washington 
was  laughing  and  cursing.  Majah  Pike  had 
not  appeared. 

It  was  the  end  of  the  golden-mouthed 
orator.  His  voice  was  never  heard  again  in 
the  House.  His  one  speech  was  noticed  only 
to  be  laughed  at,  and  the  news  went  home  to 
his  constituents.  They  showed  that  mag 
nanimity  which  the  poets  tell  us  is  an  at 
tribute  of  the  bucolic  character. x  They,  so  to 
speak,  turned  over  the  pieces  of  their  broken 
idol  with  their  cow-hide  boots,  and  remarked 
that  they  had  known  it  was  clay,  all  along, 
and  dern  poor  clay  at  that. 

So  the  golden-mouthed  went  home,  to  try 
to  make  a  ruined  practice  repair  his  ruined 
fortune ;  to  give  mortgages  on  his  home  to 
pay  the  debts  his  hospitality  had  incurred ; 
to  discuss  with  a  few  feeble  old  friends  ways 
and  means  by  which  the  war  might  have  been 
averted ;  to  beget  a  son  of  his  old  age,  and 
to  see  the  boy  grow  up  in  a  new  generation, 
with  new  ideas,  new  hopes,  new  ambitions, 
and  a  lifetime  before  him  to  make  memories 
in. 


THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF     145 

They  had  little  enough  in  common,  but 
they  came  to  be  great  friends  as  the  boy  grew 
older,  for  Horace  inherited  all  his  traits  from 
the  old  man,  except  a  certain  stern  energy 
which  came  from  his  silent,  strong-hearted 
mother,  and  which  his  father  saw  with  a  sad 

joy- 
Mr.  "Walpole  sent  his  son  to  New  York  to 
study  law  in  the  office  of  Messrs.  AYeeden, 
Snowden  &  Gilfeather,  who  were  a  pushing 
young  firm  in  1850.  Horace  found  it  a  very 
quiet  and  conservative  old  concern.  Snowden 
and  Gilfeather  were  dead ;  Weeden  had  been 
on  the  bench  and  had  gone  off  the  bench  at 
the  call  of  a  "  lucrative  practice ; "  there  were 
two  new  partners,  whose  names  appeared  only 
on  the  glass  of  the  office  door  and  in  a  corner 
of  the  letter-heads. 

Horace  read  his  law  to  some  purpose.  He 
became  the  managing  clerk  of  Messrs.  Weed- 
en,  Suowden  &  Gilfeather.  This  particular 
managing  clerkship  was  one  of  unusual  dig 
nity  and  prospective  profit.  It  meant,  as  it 
always  does,  great  responsibility,  little  honor, 
and  less  pay.  But  the  firm  was  so  peculiarly 
constituted  that  the  place  was  a  fine  stepping- 
stone  for  a  bright  and  ambitious  boy.  One 
10 


116      THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF 

of  the  new  partners  was  a  business  man, 
who  had  put  his  money  into  the  concern  in 
I860,  and  who  knew  and  cared  nothing  about 
law.  He  kept  the  books  and  managed  the 
money,  and  was  beyond  that  only  a  name  on 
the  door  and  a  terror  to  the  office-boys.  The 
other  new  partner  was  a  young  man  who 
made  a  specialty  of  collecting  debts.  He 
could  wring  gold  out  of  the  stoniest  and 
barrenest  debtor;  and  there  his  usefulness 
ended.  The  general  practice  of  the  firm 
rested  on  the  shoulders  of  Judge  Weeden, 
who  was  old,  lazy,  and  luxury-loving,  and 
who,  to  tell  the  honest  truth,  shirked  his 
duties.  Such  a  state  of  affairs  would  have 
wrecked  a  younger  house ;  but  "Weedei^ 
Snowden  &  Gilfeather  had  a  great  name,  and 
the  consequences  of  his  negligent  feebleness 
had  not  yet  descended  upon  Judge  Weeden's 
head. 

That  they  would,  in  a  few  years,  that  the 
Judge  knew  it,  and  that  he  was  quite  ready 
to  lean  on  a  strong  young  arm,  Horace  saw 
clearly. 

That  his  own  arm  was  growing  in  strength 
he  also  saw ;  and  the  Judge  knew  that,  too. 
He  was  Judge  Weeden's  pet.  All  in  the  of- 


THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF     147 

fice  recognized  the  fact.  All,  after  reflection, 
concluded  that  it  was  a  good  thing  that  he 
was.  New  blood  had  to  corne  into  the  firm 
sooner  or  later,  and  although  it  was  not  pos 
sible  to  watch  the  successful  rise  of  this  boy 
without  a  little  natural  envy  and  heart-burn 
ing,  yet  it  was  to  be  considered  that  Horace 
was  one  who  would  be  honorable,  just,  and 
generous  wherever  fortune  put  him. 

Horace  was  a  gentleman.  They  all  knew 
it.  Barnes  and  Haskins,  the  business  man 
and  the  champion  collector,  knew  it  down  in 
the  shallows  of  their  vulgar  little  souls.  Judge 
"Weeden,  who  had  some  of  that  mysterious 
ichor  of  gentlehood  in  his  wine-fed  veins, 
knew  it  and  rejoiced  in  it.  And  Horace — I 
can  say  for  Horace  that  he  never  forgot  it. 

He  was  such  a  young  prince  of  managing 
clerks  that  no  one  was  surprised  when  he  was 
sent  down  to  Sand  Hills,  Long  Island,  to  make 
preparations  for  the  reorganization  of  the 
Great  Breeze  Hotel  Company,  and  the  trans 
fer  of  the  property  known  as  the  Breeze  Hotel 
and  Park  to  its  new  owners.  The  Breeze 
Hotel  was  a  huge  "  Queen  Anne "  vagary 
which  had,  after  the  fashion  of  hotels,  bank 
rupted  its  first  owners,  and  was  now  going 


14:8      THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF 

into  the  hands  of  new  people,  who  were  likely 
to  make  their  fortunes  out  of  it.  The  prop 
erty  had  been  in  litigation  for  a  year  or  so ; 
the  mechanics'  liens  were  numerous,  and  the 
mechanics  clamorous;  and  although  the 
business  was  not  particularly  complicated,  it 
needed  careful  and  patient  adjustment.  Hor 
ace  knew  the  case  in  every  detail.  He  had 
drudged  over  it  all  the  winter,  with  no  espe 
cial  hope  of  personal  advantage,  but  simply 
because  that  was  his  way  of  working.  He 
went  down  in  June  to  the  mighty  barracks, 
and  lived  for  a  week  in  what  would  have  been 
an  atmosphere  of  paint  and  carpet-dye  had  it 
not  been  for  the  broad  sea-wind  that  blew 
through  the  five  hundred  open  windows,  and 
swept  rooms  and  corridors  with  salty  fresh 
ness.  The  summering  folk  had  not  arrived 
yet ;  there  were  only  the  new  manager  and 
his  six  score  of  raw  recruits  of  clerks  and  ser 
vants.  But  Horace  felt  the  warm  blood  com 
ing  back  to  his  cheeks,  that  the  town  had 
somewhat  paled,  and  he  was  quite  content ; 
and  every  day  he  went  down  to  the  long, 
lonely  beach,  and  had  a  solitary  swim,  al 
though  the  sharp  water  whipped  his  white 
skin  to  a  biting  red.  The  sea  takes  a  long 


THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF     149 

while  to  warm  up  to  the  summer,  and  is  sul 
len  about  it. 

He  was  to  have  returned  to  New  York  at 
the  end  of  the  week,  and  Haskins  was  to  have 
taken  his  place ;  but  it  soon  became  evident 
to  Weeden,  Snowden  &  Gilfeather  that  the 
young  man  would  attend  to  all  that  was  to  be 
done  at  Sand  Hills  quite  as  well  as  Mr.  Has 
kins,  or  quite  as  well  as  Judge  Weeden 
himself  for  that  matter.  He  had  to  shoulder 
no  great  responsibility  ;  the  work  was  mostly 
of  a  purely  clerical  nature,  vexatious  enough, 
but  simple.  It  had  to  be  done  on  the  spot, 
however ;  the  original  Breeze  Hotel  and  Park 
Company  was  composed  of  Sand  Hillers,  and 
the  builders  were  Sand  Hillers,  too,  the  bet 
ter  part  of  them.  And  there  were  titles  to 
be  searched ;  for  the  whole  scheme  was  an 
ambitious  splurge  of  Sand  Hills  pride  and  it 
had  been  undertaken  and  carried  out  in  a 
reckless  and  foolish  way.  Horace  knew  all 
the  wretched  little  details  of  the  case,  and  so 
Horace  was  entrusted  with  duties  such  as  do 
not  often  devolve  upon  a  man  of  his  years ; 
and  he  took  up  his  burden  proudly,  and  with 
a  glowing  consciousness  of  his  own  strength. 

Judge  Weedeu  missed  his  active  and  intel- 


150      TUE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF 

ligent  obedience  in  the  daily  routine  of  office 
business ;  but  the  Judge  thought  that  it  was 
just  as  well  that  Horace  should  not  know  the 
fact.  The  young  man's  time  would  come  soon 
enough,  and  he  would  be  none  the  worse  for 
serving  his  apprenticeship  in  modesty  and 
humility.  The  work  entrusted  to  him  was 
an  honor  in  itself.  And  then,  there  was  no 
reason  why  poor  Walpole's  boy  shouldn't 
have  a  sort  of  half-holiday  out  in  the  country 
and  enjoy  his  youth. 

He  was  not  recalled.  The  week  stretched 
out.  He  worked  hard,  found  time  to  play, 
hugged  his  quickened  ambitions  to  his  breast, 
wrote  hopeful  letters  to  the  mother  at  Mon- 
tevesta,  made  a  luxury  of  his  loneliness,  and 
felt  a  bashful  resentment  when  the  "  guests  " 
of  the  hotel  began  to  pour  in  from  the  out 
side  world. 

For  a  day  or  two  he  fought  shy  of  them. 
But  these  first-comers  were  lonely,  too,  and 
not  so  much  in  love  with  loneliness  as  he 
thought  he  was,  and  very  soon  he  became 
one  of  them.  He  had  found  out  all  the  walks 
and  drives ;  he  knew  the  times  of  the  tides  ; 
he  had  made  friends  with  the  fishermen  for  a 
league  up  and  down  the  coast,  and  he  had 


THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF     151 

amassed  a  store  of  valuable  hints  as  to  where 
the  first  blue-fish  might  be  expected  to  run. 
Altogether  he  was  a  very  desirable  com 
panion.  Besides,  that  bright,  fresh  face  of 
his,  and  a  certain  look  in  it,  made  you  friends 
with  him  at  once,  especially  if  you  happened 
to  be  a  little  older,  and  to  remember  a  look 
of  the  sort,  lost,  lost  forever,  in  a  boy's  look 
ing-glass. 

So  he  was  sought  out,  and  he  let  himself 
be  found,  and  the  gregarious  instinct  in  him 
waxed  delightfully. 

And  then  It  came.  Perhaps  I  should  say 
She  came,  but  it  is  not  the  woman  we  love  ; 
it  is  our  dream  of  her.  Sweet  and  tender, 
fair  and  good,  she  may  be  ;  but  let  it  be  honor 
enough  for  her  that  she  has  that  glory  about 
her  face  which  our  love  kindles  to  the  halo 
that  lights  many  a  man's  life  to  the  grave, 
though  the  face  beneath  it  be  dead  or 
false. 

I  will  not  admit  that  it  was  only  a  pretty 
girl  from  Philadelphia  who  came  to  Sand 
Hills  that  first  week  in  July.  It  was  the  rosy 
goddess  herself,  dove-drawn  across  the  sea, 
in  the  warm  path  of  the  morning  sun — 
although  the  tremulous,  old-fashioned  hand- 


152      THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF 

writing  on  the  hotel  register  only  showed  that 
the  early  train  had  brought — 

"  Samuel  Rittenhouse,       Philadelphia. 
"  Miss  Rittenhouse,  do." 

It  was  the  Honorable  Samuel  Rittenhouse, 
ex-Chief  Justice  of  Pennsylvania,  the  hon 
ored  head  of  the  Pennsylvania  bar,  and  the 
legal  representative  of  the  Philadelphia  con 
tingent  of  the  New  Breeze  Hotel  and  Park 
Company. 

In  the  evening  Horace  called  upon  him  in 
his  rooms  with  a  cumbersome  stack  of  papers, 
and  patiently  waded  through  explanations 
and  repetitions  until  Mr.  Rittenhouse's  testy 
courtesy — he  had  the  nervous  manner  of  age 
apprehensive  of  youthful  irreverence — melted 
into  a  complacent  and  fatherly  geniality. 
Then,  when  the  long  task  was  done  and  his 
young  guest  arose,  he  picked  up  the  card  that 
lay  on  the  table  and  trained  his  glasses  on  it. 

"  ' H.  K.  Walpole ? '" he  said.  "  Are  you  a 
New  Yorker,  sir  ?  " 

"  From  the  north  of  the  State,"  Horace  told 
him. 

"Indeed,  indeed.     Why,  let  me  see — you 


THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF     153 


must  be  the  son  of  my  old  friend  WalpoL 
of  Otsego — wasn't  it  ?  "  said  the  old  gentle 
man,  still  tentatively. 

"St.  Lawrence,  sir." 

"  Yes,  St.  Lawrence — of  course,  of  course. 
Why,  I  knew  your  father  well,  years  ago,  sir. 
We  were  at  college  together." 

"At  Columbia?" 

"  Yes — yes.  Why,  bless  me,"  Judge  Rit- 
tenhouse  went  on,  getting  up  to  look  at  Hor 
ace,  "  you're  the  image  of  your  poor  father  at 
your  age.  A  very  brilliant  man,  sir,  a  very 
able  man.  I  did  not  see  much  of  him  after 
we  left  college — I  was  a  Pennsylvanian,  and 
he  was  from  this  State — but  I  have  always 
remembered  your  father  with  respect  and  re 
gard,  sir — a  very  able  man.  I  think  I  heard 
of  his  death  some  years  ago." 

"Three  years  ago,"  said  Horace.  His 
voice  fell  somewhat.  How  little  to  this  old 
man  of  success  was  the  poor,  unnoticed  death 
of  failure ! 

"  Three  years  only !  "  repeated  the  Judge, 
half  apologetically.  "Ah,  people  slip  away 
from  each  other  in  this  world — slip  away. 
But  I  am  glad  to  have  met  you,  sir — very 
much  pleased  indeed.  Rosamond  ! " 


154      TUE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF 

For  an  hour  the  subdued  creaking  of  a 
rocking-chair  by  the  window  had  been  play 
ing  a  monotonously  pleasant  melody  in  Hor 
ace's  ears.  Now  and  then  a  coy  wisp  of 
bright  hair,  or  the  reflected  ghost  of  it,  had 
flashed  into  view  in  the  extreme  lower  left- 
hand  corner  of  a  mirror  opposite  him.  Once 
he  had  seen  a  bit  of  white  brow  under  it,  and 
from  time  to  time  the  low  flutter  of  turning 
magazine  leaves  had  put  in  a  brief  second  to 
the  rocking-chair. 

All  this  time  Horace's  brains  had  been 
among  the  papers  on  the  table;  but  some 
thing  else  within  him  had  been  swaying  to 
and  fro  with  the  rocking-chair,  and  giving  a 
leap  when  the  wisp  of  hair  bobbed  into  sight. 

Now  the  rocking-chair  accompaniment 
ceased,  and  the  curtained  corner  by  the  win- 
clow  yielded  up  its  treasure,  and  Miss  Eitten- 
house  came  forward,  with  one  hand  brushing 
the  wisp  of  hair  back  into  place,  as  if  she 
were  on  easy  and  familiar  terms  with  it. 
Horace  envied  it. 

"Kosamond,"  said  the  Judge,  "this  is  Mr. 
Walpole,  the  son  of  my  old  friend  Walpole. 
You  have  heard  me  speak  of  Mr.  Walpole's 
father." 


THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF     155 

"  Yes,  papa,"  said  the  young  lady,  all  but 
the  corners  of  her  mouth.  And,  oddly 
enough,  Horace  did  not  think  of  being  sad 
dened  because  this  young  woman  had  never 
heard  of  his  father.  Life  was  going  on  a  new 
key,  all  of  a  sudden,  with  a  hint  of  a  melody 
to  be  unfolded  that  ran  in  very  different 
cadences  from  the  poor  old  tune  of  memory. 

My  heroine,  over  whose  head  some  twenty 
summers  had  passed,  was  now  in  the  luxuri 
ant  prime  of  her  youthful  beauty.  Over  a 
brow  whiter  than  the  driven  snow  fell  cluster 
ing  ringlets,  whose  hue — 

That  is  the  way  the  good  old  novelists  and 
story  tellers  of  the  Neville  and  Beverley 
days  would  have  set  out  to  describe  Miss 
Eittenhouse,  had  they  known  her.  Fools  and 
blind !  As  if  anyone  could  describe — as  if  a 
poet,  even,  could  more  than  hint  at  what  a 
man  sees  in  a  woman's  face  when,  seeing,  he 
loves. 

For  a  few  moments  the  talkers  were  con 
strained,  and  the  talk  was  meagre  and  desul 
tory.  Then  the  Judge,  who  had  been  rum 
maging  around  among  the  dust-heaps  of  his 
memory,  suddenly  recalled  the  fact  that  he 
had  once,  in  stage-coach  days,  passed  a  night 


156      THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF 

at  Montevista,  and  had  been  most  hospitably 
treated.  He  dragged  this  fact  forth,  pro 
fessed  a  lively  remembrance  of  Mrs.  Wai- 
pole  —  "a  fine  woman,  sir,  your  mother ;  a 
woman  of  many  char  ins," — asked  after  her 
present  health  ;  and  then,  satisfied  that  he 
had  acquitted  himself  of  his  whole  duty, 
withdrew  into  the  distant  depths  of  his  own 
soul  and  fumbled  over  the  papers  Horace  had 
brought  him,  trying  to  familiarize  himself 
with  them,  as  a  commander  might  try  to  learn 
the  faces  of  his  soldiers. 

Then  the  two  young  people  proceeded  to 
find  the  key  together,  and  began  a  most  har 
monious  duet.  Sand  Hills  was  the  theme. 
Thus  it  was  that  they  had  to  go  out  on  the 
balcony,  where  Miss  Rittenhouse  might  gaze 
into  the  brooding  darkness  over  the  sea,  and 
watch  it  wink  a  slow  yellow  eye  with  a  humor 
ous  alternation  of  sudden  and  brief  red. 
Thus,  also,  Horace  had  to  explain  how  the 
light-house  was  constructed.  This  moved 
Miss  Eittenhouse  to  scientific  research.  She 
must  see  how  it  was  done.  Mr.  Walpole 
would  be  delighted  to  show  her.  Papa  was 
so  much  interested  in  those  mechanical  mat 
ters.  Mr.  Walpole  had  a  team  and  light 


THE^RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF     157 

wagon  at  his  disposal,  and  would  very  much 
like  to  drive  Miss  Eittenhouse  and  her  father 
over  to  the  light-house.  Miss  Eittenhouse 
communicated  this  kind  offer  to  her  father. 
Her  father  saw  what  was  expected  of  him, 
and  dutifully  acquiesced,  like  an  obedient 
American  father.  Miss  Eittenhouse  had 
managed  the  Eittenhouse  household  and  the 
head  of  the  house  of  Eittenhouse  ever  since 
her  mother's  death. 

Mr.  Walpole  really  had  a  team  at  his  dis 
posal.  He  came  from  a  country  where  people 
do  not  chase  foxes,  nor  substitutes  for  foxes ; 
but  where  they  know  and  revere  a  good 
trotter.  He  had  speeded  many  a  friend's 
horse  in  training  for  the  county  fair.  When 
he  came  to  Sand  Hills  his  soundness  in  the 
equine  branch  of  a  gentleman's  education  had 
attracted  the  attention  of  a  horsey  Sand- 
Hiller,  who  owned  a  showy  team  with  a 
record  of  2.37.  This  team  was  not  to  be 
trusted  to  the  ordinary  summer  boarder  on 
any  terms  ;  but  the  Sand-Hiller  was  thrifty 
and  appreciative,  and  he  lured  Horace  into 
hiring  the  turnout  at  a  trifling  rate,  and  thus 
captured  every  cent  the  boy  had  to  spare,  and 
got  his  horses  judiciously  exercised. 


158      THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF 

There  was  a  showy  light  wagon  to  match 
the  team,  and  the  next  day  the  light  wagon, 
with  Horace  and  the  Kittenhouses  in  it,  passed 
every  carriage  on  the  road  to  the  light-house, 
where  Miss  Eittenhouse  satisfied  her  scientific 
spirit  with  one  glance  at  the  lantern,  after 
giving  which  glance  she  went  outside  and  sat 
in  the  shade  of  the  white  tower  with  Horace, 
while  the  keeper  showed  the  machinery  to 
the  Judge.  Perhaps  she  went  to  the  Judge 
afterward,  and  got  him  to  explain  it  all  to 
her. 

Thus  it  began,  and  for  two  golden  weeks 
thus  it  went  on.  The  reorganized  Breeze 
Hotel  and  Park  Company  met  in  business 
session  on  its  own  property,  and  Horace 
acted  as  a  sort  of  honorary  clerk  to  Judge 
Eittenhouse.  The  company,  as  a  company, 
talked  over  work  for  a  couple  of  hours  each 
day.  As  a  congregation  of  individuals,  it  ate 
and  drank  and  smoked  and  played  billiards 
and  fished  and  slept  the  rest  of  the  two  dozen. 
Horace  had  his  time  pretty  much  to  himself, 
or  rather  to  Miss  Eittenhouse,  who  monopo 
lized  it.  He  drove  her  to  the  village  to  match 
embroidery  stuffs.  He  danced  with  her  in 
the  evenings,  when  two  stolidly  soulful  Ger- 


THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF     159 

mans,  one  with  a  fiddle  and  the  other  with  a 
piano,  made  the  vast  dining-room  ring  and 
hum  with  Suppe  and  "VValdteufel,  and  this 
was  to  the  great  and  permanent  improvement 
of  his  waltzing.  She  taught  him  how  to  play 
lawn-tennis — he  was  an  old-fashioned  boy 
from  the  backwoods,  and  he  thought  that 
croquet  was  still  in  existence,  so  she  had  to 
teach  him  to  play  lawn -tennis — until  he 
learned  to  play  much  better  than  she  could. 
On  the  other  hand,  he  was  a  fresh-water 
swimmer  of  rare  wind  and  wiriness,  and  a 
young  sea-god  in  the  salt,  as  soon  as  he  got 
used  to  its  pungent  strength.  So  he  taught 
her  to  strike  out  beyond  the  surf-line,  with 
broad,  breath-long  sweeps,  and  there  to  float 
and  dive  and  make  friends  with  the  ocean. 
Even  he  taught  her  to  fold  her  white  arms 
behind  her  back,  and  swim  with  her  feet.  As 
he  glanced  over  his  shoulder  to  watch  her 
following  him,  and  to  note  the  timorous,  ad 
miring  crowd  on  the  shore,  she  seemed  a  sea- 
bred  Venus  of  Milo  in  blue  serge. 

I  have  known  men  to  be  bored  by  such 
matters.  They  made  Horace  happy.  He 
was  happiest,  perhaps,  when  he  found  out 
that  she  was  studying  Latin.  All  the  girls 


1GO      THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF 

in  Philadelphia  were  studying  Latin  that 
summer.  They  had  had  a  little  school 
Latin,  of  course ;  but  now  their  aims  were 
loftier.  Miss  Rittenhouse  had  brought  with 
her  a  Harkness's  Virgil,  an  Anthon's  diction 
ary,  an  old  Bullion  &  Morris,  and — yes,  when 
Horace  asked  her,  she  had  brought  an  Inter 
linear  ;  but  she  didn't  mean  to  use  it.  They 
rowed  out  to  the  buoy,  and  put  the  Inter 
linear  in  the  sea.  They  sat  on  the  sands 
after  the  daily  swim,  and  enthusiastically 
labored,  with  many  an  unclassic  excursus, 
over  P.  V.  Maronis  Opera.  Horace  borrowed 
some  books  of  a  small  boy  in  the  hotel,  and 
got  up  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  to  run  a 
couple  of  hundred  lines  or  so  ahead  of  his 
pupil,  "  getting  out "  a  stint  that  would  have 
made  him  lead  a  revolt  had  any  teacher  im 
posed  it  upon  his  class  a  few  years  before — 
for  he  was  fresh  enough  from  school  to 
have  a  little  left  of  the  little  Latin  that  col 
leges  give. 

He  wondered  how  it  was  that  he  had  never 
seen  the  poetry  of  the  lines  before.  Forsan 
et  hcec  olim  meminisse  juvabit — for  perchance 
it  will  joy  us  hereafter  to  remember  these 
things!  He  saw  the  wTet  and  weary  sailors 


THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF     161 

on  the  shore,  hungrily  eating,  breathing  hard 
after  their  exertions;  he  heard  the  deep 
cheerfulness  of  their  leader's  voice.  The 
wind  blew  toward  him  over  the  pine  barrens, 
as  fresh  as  ever  it  blew  past  Dido's  towers. 
A  whiff  of  briny  joviality  and  adventurous 
recklessness  seemed  to  come  from  the  page 
on  his  knee.  And  to  him,  also,  had  not  She 
appeared  who  saw,  hard  by  the  sea,  that 
pious  old  buccaneer-Lothario,  so  much  tossed 
about  on  land  and  upon  the  deep  ? 

This  is  what  the  moderns  call  a  flirtation, 
and  I  do  not  doubt  that  it  was  called  a  flirta 
tion  by  the  moderns  around  these  two  young 
people.  Somehow,  though,  they  never  got 
themselves  "  talked  about,"  not  even  by  the 
stranded  nomads  on  the  hotel  verandas. 
Perhaps  this  was  because  there  was  such  a 
joyous  freshness  and  purity  about  both  of 
them  that  it  touched  the  hearts  of  even  the 
slander-steeped  old  dragons  who  rocked  all 
day  in  the  shade,  and  embroidered  tidies  and 
talked  ill  of  their  neighbors.  Perhaps  it  was 
because  they  also  had  that  about  them  which 
the  mean  and  vulgar  mind  always  sneers  at, 
jeers  at,  affects  to  disbelieve  in,  always  recog 
nizes  and  fears — the  courage  and  power  of 
11 


162      THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF 

the  finer  strain.  Envy  in  spit-curls  and  jeal 
ousy  in  a  false  front  held  their  tongues,  may 
be,  because,  though  they  knew  that  they,  and 
even  their  male  representatives,  were  safe 
from  any  violent  retort,  yet  they  recognized 
the  superior  force,  and  shrunk  from  it  as  the 
cur  edges  away  from  the  quiescent  whip. 

There  is  a  great  difference,  too,  between  the 
flirtations  of  the  grandfatherless  and  the  flir 
tations  of  the  grandfathered.  I  wish  you  to 
understand  that  Mr.  Walpole  and  Miss  Rit- 
tenhouse  did  not  sprawl  through  their  flirta 
tion,  nor  fall  into  that  slipshod  familiarity 
which  takes  all  the  delicate  beauty  of  dignity 
and  mutual  respect  out  of  such  a  friendship. 
Horace  did  not  bow  to  the  horizontal,  and 
Miss  Rittenhouse  did  not  make  a  cheese 
cake  with  her  skirts  when  he  held  open  the 
door  for  her  to  pass  through  ;  but  the  bond 
of  courtesy  between  them  was  no  less  sweetly 
gracious  on  her  side,  no  less  finely  reverential 
on  his,  than  the  taste  of  their  grandparents' 
day  would  have  exacted — no  less  earnest,  I 
think,  that  it  was  a  little  easier  than  puff  and 
periwig  might  have  made  it. 

Yet  I  also  think,  whatever  was  the  reason 
that  made  the  dragons  let  them  alone,  that  a 


THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF     163 

simple  mother  of  the  plain,  old-fashioned 
style  is  better  for  a  girl  of  Miss  Rosamond 
Rittenhouse's  age  than  any  such  precarious 
immunity  from  annoyance. 

Ah,  the  holiday  was  short !  The  summons 
soon  came  for  Horace.  They  went  to  the 
old  church  together  for  the  second  and  last 
time,  and  he  stood  beside  her,  and  they  held 
the  hymn-book  between  them. 

Horace  could  not  rid  himself  of  the  idea 
that  they  had  stood  thus  through  every  Sun 
day  of  a  glorious  summer.  The  week  before 
he  had  sung  with  her.  He  had  a  boyish  bari 
tone  in  him,  one  of  those  which  may  be  some 
what  extravagantly  characterized  as  consist 
ing  wholly  of  middle  register.  It  was  a  good 
voice  for  the  campus,  and,  combined  with 
that  startling  clearness  of  utterance  which 
young  collegians  acquire,  had  been  very 
effective  in  the  little  church.  But  to-day 
he  had  no  heart  to  sing  "Byefield"  and 
"  Pleyel ;  "  he  would  rather  stand  beside  her 
and  feel  his  heart  vibrate  to  the  deep  lower 
notes  of  her  tender  contralto,  and  his  soul 
rise  with  the  higher  tones  that  soared  upward 
from  her  pure  young  breast.  And  all  the 
while  he  was  making  that  act  of  devotion 


TUE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF 


which  —  "  uttered  or  unexpressed  "  —  is,  in 
deed,  all  the  worship  earth  has  ever  known. 

Once  she  looked  up  at  him  as  if  she  asked, 
"  Why  don't  you  sing?  "  But  her  eyes  fell 
quickly,  he  thought  with  a  shade  of  displeas 
ure  in  them  at  something  they  had  seen  in 
his.  Yet  as  he  watched  her  bent  head,  the 
cheek  near  him  warmed  with  a  slow,  soft 
blush.  He  may  only  have  fancied  that  her 
clear  voice  quivered  a  little  with  a  tremulo 
not  written  in  the  notes  at  the  top  of  the  page. 

And  now  the  last  day  came.  When  the 
work-a-day  world  thrust  its  rough  shoulder 
into  Arcadia,  and  the  hours  of  the  idyl  were 
numbered,  they  set  to  talking  of  it  as  though 
the  two  weeks  that  they  had  known  each 
other  were  some  sort  of  epitomized  summer. 
Of  course  they  were  to  meet  again,  in  New 
York  or  in  Philadelphia  ;  and  of  course  there 
were  many  days  of  summer  in  store  for  Miss 
Rittenhouse  at  Sand  Hills,  at  Newport,  and 
at  Mount  Desert  ;  but  Horace's  brief  season 
was  closed,  and  somehow  she  seemed  to  fall 
readily  into  his  way  of  looking  upon  it  as  a 
golden  period  of  special  and  important  value, 
their  joint  and  exclusive  property  —  something 
set  apart  from  all  the  rest  of  her  holiday, 


TEE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF     1C5 

where  there  would  be  other  men  and  other 
good  times  and  no  Horace. 

It  was  done  with  much  banter  and  merri 
ment  ;  but  through  it  all  Horace  listened  for 
delicate  undertones  that  should  echo  to  his 
ear  the  earnestness  which  sometimes  rang 
irrepressibly  in  his  own  speech.  In  that 
marvellous  instrument,  a  woman's  voice,  there 
are  strange  and  fine  possibilities  of  sound 
that  may  be  the  messengers  of  the  subtlest 
intelligence  or  the  sweet  falterings  of  imper 
fect  control.  So  Horace,  with  love  to  con 
strue  for  him,  did  not  suffer  too  cruelly  from 
disappointment. 

On  the  afternoon  of  that  last  day  they  sat 
upon  the  beach  and  saw  the  smoke  of  Dido's 
funeral  pile  go  up,  and  they  closed  the  dog's- 
eared  Virgil,  and,  looking  seaward,  watched 
the  black  clouds  from  a  coaling  steamer  mar 
the  blinding  blue  where  sea  and  sky  blent 
at  the  horizon,  watched  it  grow  dull  and 
faint,  and  fade  away,  and  the  illumined  tur 
quoise  reassert  itself. 

Then  he  was  for  a  farewell  walk,  and  she, 
with  that  bright  acquiescence  with  which  a 
young  girl  can  make  companionship  almost 
perfect,  if  she  will,  accepted  it  as  an  inspira- 


ICG      THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF 

tion,  and  they  set  out.  They  visited  to 
gether  the  fishermen's  houses,  where  Horace 
bade  good-by  to  mighty  fisted  friends,  who 
stuck  their  thumbs  inside  their  waistbands 
and  hitched  their  trousers  half  way  up  to 
their  blue-shirted  arms,  and  said  to  him, 
"  You  come  up  here  in  Orgust,  Mr.  Walpole 
— say  'bout  the  fus't'  the  third  week  'n  Or 
gust,  V  well  give  yer  some  bloo-fishiii'  't  y' 
won't  need  t'  lie  about,  neither."  They  all 
liked  him,  and  heartily. 

Old  Eufe,  the  gruff  hermit  of  the  fishers, 
who  lived  a  half-mile  beyond  the  settlement, 
flicked  his  shuttle  through  the  net  he  was 
mending,  and  did  not  look  up  as  Horace 
spoke  to  him. 

"  Goin'  ?  "  he  said ;  "  waal,  we've  all  gotter 
go  some  time  or  uther.  The'  ain't  no  real 
perma-nen-cy  on  this  uth.  Goin'  ?  Waal, 
I'm  " — he  paused,  and  weighed  the  shuttle  in 
his  hand  as  though  to  aid  him  in  balancing 
some  important  mental  process.  "  Sho  !  I'm 
derned  'f  I  ain't  sorry.  Squall  comin'  up,  an' 
don't  y'  make  no  mistake,"  he  hurried  on,  not 
to  be  further  committed  to  unguarded  ex 
pression  ;  "  better  look  sharp,  or  y'll  git  a 
wettin'." 


THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF     167 

A  little  puff  of  gray  cloud,  scurrying  along 
in  the  southeast,  had  spread  over  half  the 
sky,  and  now  came  a  strong,  eddying  wind. 
A  big  raindrop  made  a  dark  spot  on  the  sand 
before  them;  another  fell  on  Miss  Ritten- 
house's  cheek,  and  then,  with  a  vicious,  un 
certain  patter,  the  rain  began  to  come  down. 

"  We'll  have  to  run  for  Poinsett's,"  said 
Horace,  and  stretched  out  his  hand.  She 
took  it,  and  they  ran. 

Poinsett's  was  just  ahead — a  white  house 
on  a  lift  of  land,  close  back  of  the  shore  line, 
with  a  long  garden  stretching  down  in  front, 
and  two  or  three  poplar  trees.  The  wind 
was  turning  up  the  pale  undersides  of  grass- 
blade  and  flower  leaf,  and  whipping  the 
shivering  poplars  silver  white.  Cap'n  Poin- 
sett,  late  of  Gloucester,  Massachusetts,  was 
tacking  down  the  path  in  his  pea-jacket,  with 
his  brass  telescope  tucked  under  his  arm.  He 
was  making  for  the  little  white  summer-house 
that  overhung  the  shore  ;  but  he  stopped  to 
admire  the  two  young  people  dashing  up  the 
slope  toward  him,  for  the  girl  ran  with  a 
splendid  free  stride  that  kept  her  well  abreast 
of  Horace's  athletic  lope. 

"  Come   in,"  he   said,  opening    the   gate. 


108      THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF 

and  smiling  on  the  two  young  faces,  flushed 
and  wet;  "come  right  in  out  o'  the  rain. 
Be'n  runnin',  ain't  ye  ?  Go  right  int'  the 
house.  Mother!"  he  called,  "  here's  Mr. 
Walpole  'n'  his  young  lady.  You'll  hev  to 
ex-cuse  me  ;  I'm  a-goin'  down  t'  my  observa 
tory.  I  carn't  foller  the  sea  no  longer  myself, 
but  I  can  look  at  them  that  dooz.  There's 
my  old  woman — go  right  in." 

He  waddled  off,  leaving  both  of  them  red 
der  than  their  run  accounted  for,  and  Mrs. 
Poinsett  met  them  at  the  door,  her  arms 
folded  in  her  apron. 

"  "Walk  right  in,"  she  greeted  them  ;  "  the 
cap'n  he  mus'  always  go  down  t'  his  observa 
tory,  's  he  calls  it,  'n'  gape  through  thet  old 
telescope  of  hisn,  fust  thing  the  's  a  squall 
— jus'  's  if  he  thought  he  was  skipper  of  all 
Long  Island.  But  you  come  right  int'  the 
settin'-room  'n'  make  yourselves  to  home. 
Dear  mo  suz !  'f  I'd  'a'  thought  I'd  'a'  had 
company  I'd  'a'  tidied  things  up.  I'm  jus'  's 
busy,  as  busy,  gettin'  supper  ready ;  but  don't 
you  mind  me — jus'  you  make  yourselves  to 
home,"  and  she  drifted  chattering  away,  and 
they  heard  her  in  the  distant  kitchen  amiably 
nagging  the  hired  girl. 


THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF     1C9 

It  was  an  old-time,  low-ceiled  room,  neat 
with  New  England  neatness.  The  windows 
had  many  pains  of  green  flint  glass,  through 
which  they  saw  the  darkening  storm  swirl 
over  the  ocean  and  ravage  the  flower-beds 
near  by. 

And  when  they  had  made  an  end  of  watch 
ing  Cap'n  Poinsett  in  his  little  summer-house, 
shifting  his  long  glass  to  follow  each  scud 
ding  sail  far  out  in  the  darkness ;  and  when 
they  had  looked  at  the  relics  of  Cap'n  Poin- 
sett's  voyages  to  the  Orient  and  the  Arctic, 
and  at  the  cigar-boxes  plastered  with  little 
shells,  and  at  the  wax  fruit,  and  at  the  family 
trousers  and  bonnets  in  the  album,  there 
was  nothing  left  but  that  Miss  Eittenhouse 
should  sit  down  at  the  old  piano,  bought  for 
Amanda  Jane  in  the  last  year  of  the  war, 
and  bring  forth  rusty  melody  from  the  yel 
lowed  keys. 

"  What  a  lovely  voice  she  has !  "  thought 
Horace  as  she  sang.  No  doubt  he  was  right. 
I  would  take  his  word  against  that  of  a  pro 
fessor  of  music,  who  would  have  told  you 
that  it  was  a  nice  voice  for  a  girl,  and  that 
the  young  woman  had  more  natural  dramatic 
expression  than  technical  training. 


170      THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF 

They  fished  out  Amanda  Jane's  music- 
books,  and  went  through  "  Juanita,"  and  the 
"  Evergreen  Waltz,"  and  "  Beautiful  Isle  of 
the  Sea ; "  and,  finding  a  lot  of  war-songs, 
severally  and  jointly  announced  their  deter 
mination  to  invade  Dixie  Land,  and  to  anni 
hilate  Rebel  Hordes ;  and  adjured  each  other 
to  remember  Suniter  and  Baltimore,  and 
many  other  matters  that  could  have  made 
but  slight  impression  on  their  young  minds 
twenty  odd  years  before.  Mrs.  Poinsett,  in 
the  kitchen,  stopped  nagging  her  aid,  and 
thought  of  young  John  Tarbox  Poinsett's 
name  on  a  great  sheet  of  paper  in  the  Glou 
cester  post-office,  one  morning  at  the  end  of 
April,  1862,  when  the  news  came  that  Farra- 
gut  had  passed  the  forts. 

The  squall  was  going  over,  much  as  it  had 
come,  only  no  one  paid  attention  to  its  move 
ments  now,  for  the  sun  was  out,  trying  to 
straighten  up  the  crushed  grass  and  flowers, 
and  to  brighten  the  hurrying  waves,  and  to 
soothe  the  rustling  agitation  of  the  pop 
lars. 

They  must  have  one  more  song.  Miss 
Ptittenhouse  chose  "  Jeannette  and  Jeannot," 
and  when  she  looked  back  at  him  with 


THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF     171 

a  delicious  coy  mischief  in  her  eyes,  and 
sang,— 

"  There  is  no  one  left  to  love  me  now, 
And  you  too  may  forget " — 

Horace  felt  something  flaming  in  his  cheeks 
and  choking  in  his  breast,  and  it  was  hard 
for  him  to  keep  from  snatching  those  hands 
from  the  keys  and  telling  her  she  knew  bet 
ter. 

But  he  was  man  enough  not  to.  He  con 
trolled  himself,  and  made  himself  very  pleas 
ant  to  Mrs.  Poinsett  about  not  staying  to 
supper,  and  they  set  out  for  the  hotel. 

The  air  was  cool  and  damp  after  the 
rain. 

"  You've  been  singing,"  said  Horace,  "  and 
you  will  catch  cold  in  this  air,  and  lose 
your  voice.  You  must  tie  this  handkerchief 
around  your  throat." 

She  took  his  blue  silk  handkerchief  and 
tied  it  around  her  throat,  and  wore  it  until 
just  as  they  were  turning  away  from  the 
shore,  when  she  took  it  off  to  return  to  him  ; 
and  the  last  gust  of  wind  that  blew  that  after 
noon  whisked  it  out  of  her  hand,  and  sent  it 
whirling  a  hundred  yards  out  to  sea. 


172      THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF 

"  Now,  don't  say  a  word,"  said  Horace ; 
"  it  isn't  of  the  slightest  consequence." 

But  he  looked  very  gloomy  over  it.  He 
had  made  up  his  mind  that  that  silk  hand 
kerchief  should  be  the  silk  handkerchief  of 
all  the  world  to  him,  from  that  time  on. 

It  was  one  month  later  that  Mr.  H.  K. 
Walpole  received,  in  care  of  Messrs.  Weeden, 
Snowden  &  Gilfeather,  an  envelope  post 
marked  Newport,  containing  a  red  silk  hand 
kerchief.  His  initials  were  neatly — nay, 
beautifully,  exquisitely — stitched  in  one  cor 
ner.  But  there  was  absolutely  nothing  about 
the  package  to  show  who  sent  it,  and  Horace 
sorrowed  over  this.  Not  that  he  was  in  any 
cloubt ;  but  he  felt  that  it  meant  to  say  that 
he  must  not  acknowledge  it ;  and,  loyally,  he 
did  not. 

And  he  soon  got  over  that  grief.  The  lost 
handkerchief,  whose  origin  was  base  and  com 
mon,  like  other  handkerchiefs,  and  whose 
sanctity  was  purely  accidental — what  was  it 
to  this  handkerchief,  worked  by  her  for  him  ? 

This  became  the  outward  and  visible  sign 
of  the  inward  and  spiritual  grace  that  had 
changed  the  boy's  whole  life.  Before  this  ho 


THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF     173 

had  had  purposes  and  ambitions.  He  had 
meant  to  take  care  of  his  mother,  to  do  well 
in  the  world,  and  to  restore,  if  he  could,  the 
honor  and  glory  of  the  home  his  father  had 
left  him.  Here  were  duty,  selfishness,  and 
an  innocent  vanity.  But  now  he  had  an  end 
in  life,  so  high  that  the  very  seeking  of  it 
was  a  religion.  Every  thought  of  self  was 
flooded  out  of  him,  and  what  he  sought  he 
sought  in  a  purer  and  nobler  spirit  than  ever 
before. 

Is  it  not  strange  ?  A  couple  of  weeks  at 
the  sea-side,  a  few  evenings  under  the  brood 
ing  darkness  of  hotel  verandas,  the  going  to 
and  fro  of  a  girl  with  a  sweet  face,  and  this 
ineradicable  change  is  made  in  the  mind  of  a 
man  who  has  forty  or  fifty  years  before  him 
wherein  to  fight  the  world,  to  find  his  place, 
to  become  a  factor  for  good  or  evil. 

And  here  we  have  Horace,  with  his  heart 
full  of  love  and  his  head  full  of  dreams, 
mooning  over  a  silk  handkerchief,  in  open 
court. 

Not  that  he  often  took  such  chances.  The 
daws  of  humor  peck  at  the  heart  worn  on  tho 
sleeve  ;  and  quite  rightly,  for  that  is  no  place 
for  a  heart.  But  in  the  privacy  of  his  modest 


174      THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF 

lodging-house  room  he  took  the  handkerchief 
out,  and  spread  it  before  him,  and  looked  at 
it,  and  kissed  it  sometimes,  I  suppose — it 
seems  ungentle  to  pry  thus  into  the  sacred- 
ness  of  a  boy's  love — and,  certainly,  kept  it 
in  sight,  working,  studying,  or  thinking. 

With  all  this,  the  handkerchief  became 
somewhat  rumpled,  and  at  last  Horace  felt 
that  it  must  be  brought  back  to  the  condition 
of  neatness  in  which  he  first  knew  it.  So,  on 
a  Tuesday,  he  descended  to  the  kitchen  of  his 
lodging-house,  and  asked  for  a  flat-iron. 
His  good  landlady,  at  the  head  of  an  indus 
trious,  plump  -  armed  Irish  brigade,  all 
vigorously  smoothing  out  towels,  stared  at 
him  in  surprise. 

"  If  there's  anything  you  want  ironed,  Mr. 
Walpole,  bring  it  down  here,  and  I'll  be 
more'n  glad  to  iron  it  for  you." 

Horace  grew  red,  and  found  his  voice 
going  entirely  out  of  his  control,  as  he  tried 
to  explain  that  it  Avasn't  for  that — it  wasn't 
for  ironing  clothes  —  he  was  sure  nobody 
could  do  it  but  himself. 

"  Do  you  want  it  hot  or  cold  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Wilkins,  puzzled. 

"  Cold  !  "   said  Horace   desperately.     And 


THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF     175 

he  got  it  cold,  and  had  to  heat  it  at  his  own 
fire  to  perform  his  labor  of  love. 

That  was  of  a  piece  with  many  things  he 
did.  Of  a  piece,  for  instance,  with  his  look 
ing  in  at  the  milliners'  windows  and  trying 
to  think  which  bonnet  would  best  become 
her  —  and  then  taking  himself  severely  to 
task  for  dreaming  that  she  would  wear  a 
ready  -  made  bonnet.  Of  a  piece  with  his 
buying  two  seats  for  the  theatre,  and  going 
alone  and  fancying  her  next  him,  and  glan 
cing  furtively  at  the  empty  place  at  the  points 
where  he  thought  she  would  be  amused,  or 
pleased,  or  moved. 

What  a  fool  he  was  !  Yes,  my  friend,  and 
so  are  you  and  I.  And  remember  that  this 
boy's  foolishness  did  not  keep  him  tossing, 
stark  awake,  through  ghastly  nights  ;  did  not 
start  him  up  in  the  morning  with  a  hot  throat 
and  an  unrested  brain ;  did  not  send  him 
down  to  his  day's  work  with  the  haunting, 
clutching,  lurking  fear  that  springs  forward 
at  every  stroke  of  the  clock,  at  every  opening 
of  the  door.  Perhaps  you  and  I  have  known 
folly  worse  than  his. 

Through  all  the  winter  —  the  red  handker 
chief  cheered  the  hideous  first  Monday  in 


176      THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF 

October,  and  the  Christinas  holidays,  when 
business  kept  him  from  going  home  to 
Moiitevista  —  he  heard  little  or  nothing  of 
her.  His  friends  in  the  city,  or  rather  his 
father's  friends,  were  all  ingrained  New 
Yorkers,  dating  from  the  provincial  period, 
who  knew  not  Philadelphia  ;  and  it  was  only 
from  an  occasional  newspaper  paragraph  that 
he  learned  that  Judge  Eittenhouse  and  his 
daughter  were  travelling  through  the  South, 
for  the  Judge's  health.  Of  course,  he  had  a 
standing  invitation  to  call  on  them  whenever, 
he  should  find  himself  in  Philadelphia ;  but 
they  never  came  nearer  Philadelphia  than 
"Washington,  and  so  he  never  found  himself 
in  Philadelphia.  He  was  not  so  sorry  for 
this  as  you  might  think  a  lover  should  be. 
He  knew  that,  with  a  little  patience,  he  might 
present  himself  to  Judge  Bittenhouse  as 
something  more  than  a  lawyer's  managing 
clerk. 

For,  meanwhile,  good  news  had  come  from 
home,  and  things  were  going  well  with  him. 
Mineral  springs  had  been  discovered  at 
Aristotle — mineral  springs  may  be  discovered 
anywhere  in  north  New  York,  if  you  only 
try;  though  it  is  sometimes  difficult  to  fit 


THE  RED   SILK  HANDKERCHIEF     177 

them  with  the  proper  Indian  legends.  The 
name  of  the  town  had  been  changed  to 
Avoca,  and  there  was  already  an  Avoca 
Improvement  Company,  building  a  big  hotel, 
advertising  right  and  left,  and  prophesying 
that  the  day  of  Saratoga  and  Sharon  and 
Richfield  was  ended.  So  the  barrens  between 
Montevista  and  Aristotle,  skirting  the  railroad, 
suddenly  took  on  a  value.  Hitherto  they  had 
been  unsalable,  except  for  taxes.  For  the 
most  part  they  were  an  adjunct  of  the  estate 
of  Montevista ;  and  in  February  Horace  went 
up  to  St.  Lawrence  County  and  began  the 
series  of  sales  that  was  to  realize  his  father's 
most  hopeless  dream,  and  clear  Montevista  of 
all  incumbrances. 

How  pat  it  all  came,  he  thought,  as,  on  his 
return  trip,  the  train  carried  him  past  the 
little  old  station,  with  its  glaring  new  sign, 
AVOCA,  just  beyond  the  broad  stretch  of 
"  Squire  Walpole's  bad  land,"  now  sprouting 
with  the  surveyors'  stakes.  After  all  was 
paid  off  on  the  old  home,  there  would  be 
enough  left  to  enable  him  to  buy  out 
Haskins,  who  had  openly  expressed  his 
desire  to  get  into  a  "  live  firm,"  and  who  was 
willing  to  part  with  his  interest  for  a  reason- 
12 


178      THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF 

able  sum  down,  backed  up  by  a  succession  of 
easy  instalments.  And  Judge  "Weeden  had 
intimated,  as  clearly  as  dignity  would  permit, 
his  anxiety  that  Horace  should  seize  the 
opportunity. 

Winter  was  still  on  the  Jersey  flats  on  the 
last  day  of  March ;  but  Horace,  waiting  at  a 
little  "flag  station,"  found  the  air  full  of 
crude  prophecies  of  spring.  He  had  been 
searching  titles  all  day,  in  a  close  and  gloomy 
little  town -hall,  and  he  was  glad  to  be  out-of- 
doors  again,  and  to  think  that  he  should  be 
back  in  New  York  by  dinner  time,  for  it  was 
past  five  o'clock. 

But  a  talk  with  the  station-master  made 
the  prospect  less  bright.  No  train  would 
stop  there  until  seven. 

Was  there  no  other  way  of  getting  home  ? 
The  lonely  guardian  of  the  Gothic  shanty 
thought  it  over,  and  found  that  there  was  a 
way.  He  talked  of  the  trains  as  though  they 
were  whimsical  creatures  under  his  charge. 

"  The  's  a  freight  coming  down  right  now," 
he  said,  meditatively,  "  but  I  can't  do  nothin' 
with  her.  She  gotter  get  along  mighty  lively 
to  keep  ahead  of  the  Express  from  Philadel- 


TUB  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF     179 

phia  till  she  gets  to  the  junction  and  goes  on 
a  siding  till  the  Express  goes  past.  And  as 
to  the  Express — why,  I  couldn't  no  more  flag 
her  than  if  she  was  a  cyclone.  But  I  tell  you 
what  you  do.  You  walk  right  down  to  the 
junction — 'bout  a  mile  'n'  a  half  down — and 
see  if  you  can't  do  something  with  number 
ninety-seven  on  the  other  road.  You  see,  she 
goes  on  to  New  York  on  our  tracks,  and  she 
mostly 's  in  the  habit  of  waiting  at  the  junction 
'bout — say  five  to  seven  minutes,  to  give  that 
Express  from  Philadelphia  a  fair  start.  That 
Express  has  it  pretty  much  her  own  way  on 
this  road,  for  a  fact.  You  go  down  to  the 
junction  —  walk  right  down  the  line  —  and 
you  '11  get  ninety-seven — there  ain't  no  kind 
of  doubt  about  it.  You  can't  see  the  junc 
tion  ;  but  it's  just  half  a  mile  beyont  that 
curve  down  there." 

So  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  to 
walk  to  the  junction.  The  railroad  ran  a 
straight,  steadily  descending  mile  on  the  top 
of  a  high  embankment,  and  then  suddenly 
turned  out  of  sight  around  a  ragged  elevation. 
Horace  buttoned  his  light  overcoat,  and 
tramped  down  the  cinder-path  between  the 
tracks. 


180      THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF 

Yes,  spring  was  coming.  The  setting  sun 
beamed  a  soft,  hopeful  red  over  the  shoulder 
of  the  ragged  elevation  ;  light,  drifting  mists 
rose  from  the  marsh  land  below  him,  and  the 
last  low  rays  struck  a  vapory  opal  through 
them.  There  was  a  warm,  almost  prismatic 
purple  hanging  over  the  outlines  of  the  hills 
and  woods  far  to  the  east.  The  damp  air, 
even,  had  a  certain  languid  warmth  in  it ;  and 
though  there  was  snow  in  the  little  hollows  at 
the  foot  of  the  embankment,  and  bits  of  thin 
whitish  ice  were  in  the  swampy  pools,  it  was 
clear  enough  to  Horace  that  spring  was  at 
hand.  Spring — and  then  summer;  and,  by 
the  sea  or  in  the  mountains,  the  junior  part 
ner  of  the  house  of  Weeden,  Snowden  &  Gil- 
feather  might  hope  to  meet  once  more  with 
Judge  Bittenhouse's  daughter. 

The  noise  of  the  freight  train,  far  up  the 
track  behind  him,  disturbed  Horace's  spring 
time  revery.  A  forethought  of  rocking  gravel- 
cars  scattering  the  overplus  of  their  load  by 
the  way,  and  of  reeking  oil-tanks,  filling  the 
air  with  petroleum,  sent  him  down  the  em 
bankment  to  wait  until  the  way  was  once  more 
clear. 

The  freight  train  went  by  and  above  him 


THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF     181 

with  a  long-drawn  roar  and  clatter,  and  with 
a  sudden  fierce  crash,  and  the  shriek  of  iron 
upon  iron,  at  the  end,  and  the  last  truck  of  the 
last  car  came  down  the  embankment,  tearing 
a  gully  behind  it,  and  ploughed  a  grave  for 
itself  in  the  marsh  ten  yards  ahead  of  him. 

And,  looking  up,  he  saw  a  twisted  rail  rais 
ing  its  head  like  a  shining  serpent  above  the 
dim  line  of  the  embankment.  A  furious  rush 
took  Horace  up  the  slope.  A  quarter  of  a 
mile  below  him  the  freight  train  was  slipping 
around  the  curve.  The  fallen  end  of  the  last 
car  was  beating  and  tearing  the  ties.  He  heard 
the  shrill  shriek  of  the  brakes  and  the  fright 
ened  whistle  of  the  locomotive.  But  the 
grade  was  steep,  and  it  was  hard  to  stop. 
And  if  they  did  stop  they  were  half  a  mile 
from  the  junction — half  a  mile  from  their  only 
chance  of  warning  the  Express. 

Horace  heard  in  his  ears  the  station- 
master's  words :  "  She's  gotter  get  along 
mighty  lively  to  keep  ahead  of  the  Express 
from  Philadelphia." 

"  Mighty  lively  —  mighty  lively  "  —  the 
words  rang  through  his  brain  to  the  time 
of  thundering  car- wheels. 

He  knew  where  he  stood.     He  had  made 


182      THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF 

three-quarters  of  the  straight  mile.  He  was 
three-quarters  of  a  mile,  then,  from  the  little 
station.  His  overcoat  was  off  in  half  a 
second.  Many  a  time  had  he  stripped,  with 
that  familiar  movement,  to  trunks  and  sleeve 
less  shirt,  to  run  his  mile  or  his  half-mile; 
but  never  had  such  a  thirteen  hundred  yards 
lain  before  him,  up  such  a  track,  to  be  run 
for  such  an  end. 

The  sweat  was  on  his  forehead  before  his 
right  foot  passed  his  left. 

His  young  muscles  strove  and  stretched. 
His  feet  struck  the  soft,  unstable  path  of 
cinders  with  strong,  regular  blows.  His 
tense  forearms  strained  upward  from  his 
sides.  Under  his  chest,  thrown  outward 
from  his  shoulders,  was  a  constricting  line  of 
pain.  His  wet  face  biirnt.  There  was  a  fire 
in  his  temples,  and  at  every  breath  of  his 
swelling  nostrils  something  throbbed  behind 
his  eyes.  The  eyes  saw  nothing  but  a  dan 
cing  dazzle  of  tracks  and  ties,  through  a  burn 
ing  blindness.  And  his  feet  beat,  beat,  beat, 
till  the  shifting  cinders  seemed  afire  under 
him. 

That  is  what  this  human  machine  was  do 
ing,  going  at  this  extreme  pressure;  every 


THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF     183 

muscle,  every  breath,  every  drop  of  blood 
alive  with  the  pain  of  this  intense  stress. 
Looking  at  it  you  would  have  said,  "  A  fleet, 
light-limbed  young  man,  with  a  stride  like  a 
deer,  throwing  the  yards  under  him  in  tine 
style."  All  we  know  about  the  running  other 
folks  are  making  in  this  world ! 

Half-way  up  the  track  Horace  stopped 
short,  panting  hard,  his  heart  beating  like  a 
crazy  drum,  a  nervous  shiver  on  him.  Up 
the  track  there  was  a  dull  whirr,  and  he  saw 
the  engine  of  the  express-train  slipping  down 
on  him — past  the  station  already. 

The  white  mists  from  the  marshes  had 
risen  up  over  the  embankment.  The  last 
rays  of  the  sunset  shot  through  them,  brill 
iant  and  blinding.  Horace  could  see  the 
engine ;  but  would  the  engineer  see  him, 
waving  his  hands  in  futile  gestures,  in  time 
to  stop  on  that  slippery,  sharp  grade  ?  And 
of  what  use  would  be  his  choking  voice  when 
the  dull  whirr  should  turn  into  a  roar  ?  For 
a  moment,  in  his  hopeless  disappointment, 
Horace  felt  like  throwing  himself  in  the  path 
of  the  train,  like  a  wasted  thing  that  had  no 
right  to  live,  after  so  great  a  failure. 

As  will  happen  to  those  who  are  stunned 


184     TEE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF 

by  a  great  blow,  his  mind  ran  back  mechan 
ically  to  the  things  nearest  his  heart,  and  in 
a  flash  he  went  through  the  two  weeks  of  his 
life.  And  then,  before  the  thought  had  time 
to  form  itself,  he  had  brought  a  red  silk 
handkerchief  from  his  breast,  and  was  wav 
ing  it  with  both  hands,  a  fiery  crimson  in  the 
opal  mist. 

Seen.  The  whistle  shrieked ;  there  was  a 
groan  and  a  creak  of  brakes,  the  thunder  of 
the  train  resolved  itself  into  various  rattling 
noises,  the  engine  slipped  slowly  by  him,  and 
slowed  down,  and  he  stood  by  the  platform 
of  the  last  car  as  the  express  stopped. 

There  was  a  crowd  around  Horace  in  an 
instant.  His  head  was  whirling,  but  in  a  dull 
way  he  said  what  he  had  to  say.  An  officious 
passenger,  who  would  have  explained  it  all 
to  the  conductor  if  the  conductor  had  waited, 
took  the  deliverer  in  his  arms — for  the  boy 
was  near  fainting — and  enlightened  the  pas 
sengers  who  flocked  around. 

Horace  hung  in  his  embrace,  too  deadly 
weak  even  to  accept  the  offer  of  one  of  the 
dozen  flasks  that  were  thrust  at  him.  Noth 
ing  was  very  clear  in  his  mind  ;  as  far  as  he 
could  make  out,  his  most  distinct  impression 


THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF     185 

was  of  a  broad,  flat  beach,  a  blue  sea  and  a 
blue  sky,  a  black  steamer  making  a  black 
trail  of  smoke  across  them,  and  a  voice  soft 
as  an  angel's  reading  Latin  close  by  him. 
Then  he  opened  his  eyes  and  saw  the 
woman  of  the  voice  standing  in  front  of 
him. 

"  Oh,  Bichard,"  he  heard  her  say,  "  it's  Mr. 
Walpole !  " 

Horace  struggled  to  his  feet.  She  took 
his  hand  in  both  of  hers  and  drew  closer  to 
him ;  the  crowd  falling  back  a  little,  seeing 
that  they  were  friends. 

"  What  can  I  ever  say  to  thank  you  ?  "  she 
said.  "  You  have  saved  our  lives.  It's  not 
so  much  for  myself,  but" — she  blushed 
faintly,  and  Horace  felt  her  hands  tremble 
on  his — "  Kichard — my  husband — we  were 
married  to-day,  you  know — and " 

Something  heavy  and  black  came  between 
Horace  and  life  for  a  few  minutes.  When  it 
passed  away  he  straightened  himself  up  out 
of  the  arms  of  the  officious  passenger  and 
stared  about  him,  mind  and  memory  coming 
back  to  him.  The  people  around  looked  at 
him  oddly.  A  brakeman  brought  him  his 
overcoat,  and  he  stood  unresistingly  while  it 


186      THE  RED  SILK  HANDKERCHIEF 

was  slipped  on  him.     Then  he  turned  away 
and  started  down  the  embankment. 

"Hold  on ! "  cried  the  officious  passenger  ex 
citedly  ;  "  we're  getting  up  a  testimonial " 

Horace  never  heard  it.  How  he  found  his 
way  he  never  cared  to  recall ;  but  the  gas 
was  dim  in  the  city  streets,  and  the  fire  was 
out  in  his  little  lodging-house  room  when  he 
came  home  ;  and  his  narrow  white  bed  knows 
all  that  I  cannot  tell  of  his  tears  and  his 
broken  dreams. 

•         ••••••• 

""Walpole,"  said  Judge  Weeden,  as  he 
stood  between  the  yawning  doors  of  the  of 
fice  safe,  one  morning  in  June,  "I  observe 
that  you  have  a  private  package  here.  Why 
do  you  not  use  the  drawer  of  our — our  late 
associate,  Mr.  Haskins?  It  is  yours  now, 
you  know.  I'll  put  your  package  in  it."  He 
poised  the  heavily  sealed  envelope  in  his 
hand.  "  Very  odd  feeling  package,  Walpole. 
Kemarkably  soft !  "  he  said.  "  Well,  bless 
me,  it's  none  of  my  business,  of  course. 
Horace,  how  much  you  look  like  your 
father!" 


OUR  AROMATIC  UNCLE 


OUR  AROMATIC  UNCLE 


IT  is  always  with  a  feeling  of  personal 
tenderness  and  regret  that  I  recall  his 
story,  although  it  began  long  before  I  was 
born,  and  must  have  ended  shortly  after  that 
important  date,  and  although  I  myself  never 
laid  eyes  on  the  personage  of  whom  my  wife 
and  I  always  speak  as  "  The  Aromatic 
Uncle." 

The  story  begins  so  long  ago,  indeed,  that 
I  can  tell  it  only  as  a  tradition  of  my  wife's 
family.  It  goes  back  to  the  days  when  Bos 
ton  was  so  frankly  provincial  a  town  that 
one  of  its  leading  citizens,  a  man  of  eminent 
position  and  ancient  family,  remarked  to  a 
young  kinsman  whom  he  was  entertaining  at 
his  hospitable  board,  by  way  of  pleasing 
and  profitable  discourse:  "Nephew,  it  may 
interest  you  to  know  that  it  is  Mr.  Everett 
who  has  the  other  hindquarter  of  this  lamb." 
This  simple  tale  I  will  vouch  for,  for  I  got  it 


190  OUR  AROMATIC   UNCLE 

from  the  lips  of  the  nephew,  who  has  been 
my  uncle  for  so  many  years  that  I  know  him 
to  be  a  trustworthy  authority. 

In  those  days  which  seem  so  far  away — 
and  yet  the  space  between  them  and  us  is 
spanned  by  a  lifetime  of  three-score  years  and 
ten^lif e  was  simpler  in  all  its  details ;  yet 
such  towns  as  Boston,  already  old,  had  well- 
established  local  customs  which  varied  not  at 
all  from  year  to  year ;  many  of  which  lingered 
in  later  phases  of  urban  growth.  In  Boston, 
or  at  least  in  that  part  of  Boston  where  my 
wife's  family  dwelt,  it  was  the  invariable  cus 
tom  for  the  head  of  the  family  to  go  to  mar 
ket  in  the  early  morning  with  his  wife's  list 
of  the  day's  needs.  When  the  list  was  filled, 
the  articles  were  placed  in  a  basket ;  and  the 
baskets  thus  filled  were  systematically  depos 
ited  by  the  market-boys  at  the  back-door  of 
the  house  to  which  they  were  consigned. 
Then  the  house-keeper  came  to  the  back-door 
at  her  convenience,  and  took  the  basket  in. 
Exposed  as  this  position  must  have  been,  such 
a  thing  as  a  theft  of  the  day's  edibles  was  un 
known,  and  the  first  authentic  account  of  any 
illegitimate  handling  of  the  baskets  brings 
me  to  the  introduction  of  my  wife's  uncle. 


*  >£ 

IT  WAS  ON  A   SUMMER   MORNING 


OUR  AROMATIC  UNCLE  191 

It  was  on  a  summer  morning,  as  far  as  I 
can  find  out,  that  a  little  butcher-boy — a  very 
little  butcher-boy  to  be  driving  so  big  a  cart 
— stopped  in  the  rear  of  two  houses  that 
stood  close  together  in  a  suburban  street. 
One  of  these  houses  belonged  to  my  wife's 
father,  who  was,  from  all  I  can  gather,  a  very 
pompous,  severe,  and  generally  objectionable 
old  gentleman ;  a  Judge,  and  a  very  consider 
able  dignitary,  who  apparently  devoted  all  his 
leisure  to  making  life  miserable  for  his  family. 
The  other  was  owned  by  a  comparatively  poor 
and  unimportant  man,  who  did  a  shipping 
business  in  a  small  way.  He  had  bought  it 
during  a  period  of  temporary  affluence,  and  it 
hung  on  his  hands  like  a  white  elephant.  He 
could  not  sell  it,  and  it  was  turning  his  hair 
gray  to  pay  the  taxes  on  it.  On  this  particu 
lar  morning  he  had  got  up  at  four  o'clock  to 
go  down  to  the  wharves  to  see  if  a  certain 
ship  in  which  he  was  interested  had  arrived. 
It  was  due  and  overdue,  and  its  arrival  would 
settle  the  question  of  his  domestic  comfort 
for  the  whole  year ;  for  if  it  failed  to  appear, 
or  came  home  with  an  empty  bottom,  his  fate 
would  be  hard  indeed ;  but  if  it  brought  him 
money  or  marketable  goods  from  its  long 


192  OUR  AROMATIC  UNCLE 

Oriental  trip,  he  might  take  heart  of  grace 
and  look  forward  to  better  times. 

When  the  butcher's  boy  stopped  at  the 
house  of  my  wife's  father,  he  set  down  at  the 
back-door  a  basket  containing  fish,  a  big  joint 
of  roast  beef,  and  a  generous  load  of  fruit  and 
vegetables,  including  some  fine,  fat  oranges. 
At  the  other  door  he  left  a  rather  unpromis 
ing-looking  lump  of  steak  and  a  half-peck  of 
potatoes,  not  of  the  first  quality.  When  he 
had  deposited  these  two  burdens  he  ran  back 
and  started  his  cart  up  the  road. 

But  he  looked  back  as  he  did  so,  and  he 
saw  a  sight  familiar  to  him,  and  saw  the  com 
mission  of  a  deed  entirely  unfamiliar.  A 
handsome  young  boy  of  about  his  own  age 
stepped  out  of  the  back-door  of  my  wife's 
father's  house  and  looked  carelessly  around 
him.  He  was  one  of  the  boys  who  compel 
the  admiration  of  all  other  boys  —  strong, 
sturdy,  and  a  trifle  arrogant. 

He  had  long  ago  compelled  the  admiration 
of  the  little  butcher-boy.  They  had  been 
playmates  together  at  the  public  school,  and 
although  the  Judge's  son  looked  down  from 
an  infinite  height  upon  his  poor  little  com 
rade,  the  butcher-boy  worshipped  him  with 


OUR  AROMATIC  UNCLE  193 

the  deepest  and  most  fervent  adoration.  Ho 
had  for  him  the  admiring  reverence  which  the 
boy  who  can't  lick  anybody  has  for  the  boy 
who  can  lick  everybody. /tie  was  a  superior 
being,  a  pattern,  a  model ;  an  ideal  never  to 
be  achieved,  but  perhaps  in  a  crude,  humble 
way  to  be  imitated.  And  there  is  no  hero- 
worship  in  the  world  like  a  boy's  worship  of 
a  boy-hero. 

The  sight  of  this  fortunate  and  adorable 
youth  was  familiar  enough  to  the  butcher- 
boy,  but  the  thing  he  did  startled  and  shocked 
that  poor  little  workingman  almost  as  much 
as  if  his  idol  had  committed  a  capital  crime 
right  before  his  very  eyes.  For  the  Judge's 
son  suddenly  let  a  look  into  his  face  that 
meant  mischief,  glanced  around  him  to  see 
whether  anybody  was  observing  him  or  not, 
and,  failing  to  notice  the  butcher-boy,  quickly 
and  dexterously  changed  the  two  baskets. 
Then  he  went  back  into  the  house  and  shut 
the  door  on  himself. 

The  butcher-boy  reined  up  his  horse  and 
jumped  from  his  cart.  His  first  impulse,  of 
course,  was  to  undo  the  shocking  iniquity 
which  the  object  of  his  admiration  had  com 
mitted.  But  before  he  had  walked  back  a 

13 


194:  OUR  AROMATIC  UNCLE 

dozen  yards,  it  struck  him  that  he  was  taking 
a  great  liberty  in  spoiling  the  other  boy's 
joke./  It  was  wrong,  of  course,  he  knew  it; 
but  was  it  for  him  to  rebuke  the,,  wrong-doing 
of  such  an  exalted  personage  ?  /If  the  Judge's 
son  came  out  again,  he  would  see  that  his 
joke  had  miscarried,  and  then  he  would  be 
displeased.  And  'to  the  butcher-boy  it  did 
not  seem  right  in  the  nature  of  things  that 
anything  should  displease  the  Judge's  son. 
Three  times  he  went  hesitatingly  backward 
and  forward,  trying  to  make  up  his  mind,  and 
then  he  made  it  up.  The  king  could  do  no 
wrong.  Of  course  he  himself  was  doing 
wrong  in  not  putting  the  baskets  back  where 
they  belonged, ;  but  then  he  reflected,  he  took 
that  sin  on  his  own  humble  conscience,  and 
in  some  measure  took  it  off  the  conscience  of 
the  Judge's  son — if,  indeed,  it  troubled  that 
lightsome  conscience  at  all. )  And,  of  course, 
too,  he  knew  that,  being  an  apprentice,  he 
would  be  whipped  for  it  when  the  substitu 
tion  was  discovered.  But  he  didn't  mind 
being  whipped  for  the  boy  he  worshipped. 
So  he  drove  out  along  the  road ;  and  the  wife 
of  the  poor  shipping-merchant,  coming  to  the 
back-door,  and  finding  the  basket  full  of 


OUR  AROMATIC  UNCLE  105 

good  things,  and  noticing  especially  the 
beautiful  China  oranges,  naturally  concluded 
that  her  husband's  ship  had  come  in,  and 
that  he  had  provided  his  family  with  a  rare 
treat.  And  the  Judge,  when  he  came  home 
to  dinner,  and  Mrs.  Judge  introduced  him  to 
the  rump-steak  and  potatoes  —  but  I  do  not 
wish  to  make  this  story  any  more  pathetic 
than  is  necessary. 


A  few  months  after  this  episode,  perhaps 
indirectly  in  consequence  of  it  —  I  have  never 
been  able  to  find  out  exactly—  the  Judge's 
son,  my  wife's  uncle,  ran  away  fo  sea,  and  for 
many  years  his  recklessness,  his  strength, 
and  his  good  looks  were  only  traditions  in 
the  family,  but  traditions  which  he  himself 
kept  alive  by  remembrances  than  which  none 
could  have  been  more  effective. 

At  first  he  wrote  but  seldom,  later  on  more 
regularly,  but  his  letters—  I  have  seen  many 
of  them—  were  the  most  uncommunicative 
documents  that  I  ever  saw  in  my  life.  His 
wanderings  took  him  to  many  strange  places 
on  the  other  side  of  the  globe,  but  he  never 
wrote  of  what  he  saw  or  did.  His  family 


196  OUR  AROMATIC  UNCLE 

gleaned  from  them  that  his  health  was  good, 
that  the  weather  was  such-and-such,  and  that 
he  wished  to  have  his  love,  duty,  and  respects 
conveyed  to  his  various  relatives.  In  fact, 
the  first  positive  bit  of  personal  intelligence 
that  they  received  from  him  was  five  years 
after  his  departure,  when  he  wrote  them  from 
a  Chinese  port  on  letter-paper  whose  heading 
showed  that  he  was  a  member  of  a  com 
mercial  firm.  The  letter  itself  made  no 
mention  of  the  fact.  As  the  years  passed  on, 
however,  the  letters  came  more  regularly  and 
they  told  less  about  the  weather,  and  were 
slightly — very  slightly — more  expressive  of  a 
kind  regard  for  his  relatives.  But  at  the 
best  they  were  cramped  by  the  formality  of 
his  day  and  generation,  and  we  of  to-day 
would  have  called  them  cold  and  perfunctory. 
But  the  practical  assurances  that  he  gave 
of  his  undiminished — nay,  his  steadily  in 
creasing — affection  for  the  people  at  home, 
were  of  a  most  satisfying  character,  for  they 
were  convincing  proof  not  only  of  his  love 
but  of  his  material  prosperity.  Almost  from 
his  first  time  of  writing  ho  began  to  send 
gifts  to  all  the  members  of  the  family.  At 
trst  these  were  mere  trifles,  little  curios  of 


OUR  AROMATIC  UNCLE  197 

travel  such  as  he  was  able  to  purchase  out  of 
a  seaman's  scanty  wages ;  but  as  the  years 
went  on  they  grew  richer  and  richer,  till  the 
munificence  of  the  runaway  son  became  the 
pride  of  the  whole  family. 

The  old  house  that  had  been  in  the  sub 
urbs  of  Boston  was  fairly  in  the  heart  of  the 
city  when  I  first  made  its  acquaintance,  and 
one  of  the  famous  houses  of  the  town.  And 
it  was  no  wonder  it  was  famous,  for  such 
a  collection  of  Oriental  furniture,  bric-a-brac, 
and  objects  of  art  never  was  seen  outside  of  a 
museum.  There  were  ebony  cabinets,  book 
cases,  tables,  and  couches  wonderfully  carved 
and  inlaid  with  mother-of-pearl.  There  were 
beautiful  things  in  bronze  and  jade  and  ivory. 
There  were  all  sorts  of  strange  rugs  and 
curtains  and  portieres.  As  to  the  china-ware 
and  the  vases,  no  house  was  ever  so  stocked; 
and  as  for  such  trifles  as  shawls  and  fans  and 
silk  handkerchiefs,  why  such  things  were  sent 
not  singly  but  by  dozens. 

No  one  could  forget  his  first  entrance  into 
that  house.  The  great  drawing-room  was 
darkened  by  heavy  curtains,  and  at  first  you 
had  only  a  dim  vision  of  the  strange  and 
graceful  shapes  of  its  curious  furnishing. 


198  OUR  AROMATIC  UNCLE 

But  you  could  not  but  be  instantly  conscious 
of  the  delicate  perfume  that  pervaded  the 
apartment,  and,  for  the  matter  of  that,  the 
whole  house.  It  was  a  combination  of  all  the 
delightful  Eastern  smells — not  sandal- wood 
only,  nor  teak,  nor  couscous,  but  all  these 
odors  and  a  hundred  others  blent  in  one. 
Yet  it  was  not  heavy  nor  overpowering,  but 
delightfully  faint  and  sweet,  diffused  through 
those  ample  rooms.  There  was  good  reason, 
indeed,  for  the  children  of  the  generation  to 
which  my  wife  belonged  to  speak  of  the 
generous  relative  whom  they  had  never  seen 
as  "  Our  Aromatic  Uncle."  There  were  other 
uncles,  and  I  have  no  doubt  they  gave 
presents  freely,  for  it  was  a  wealthy  and  free 
handed  family ;  but  there  was  no  other  uncle 
who  sent  such  a  delicate  and  delightful  re 
minder  with  every  gift,  to  breathe  a  soft 
memory  of  him  by  day  and  by  night. 


I  did  my  courting  in  the  sweet  atmosphere 
of  that  house,  and,  although  I  had  no  earthly 
desire  to  live  in  Boston,  I  could  not  help 
missing  that  strangely  blended  odor  when  my 
wife  and  1  moved  into  an  old  house  in  an  old 


OUR  AROMATIC  UNCLE  199 

part  of  New  York,  whose  former  owners  Lad 
no  connections  in  the  Eastern  trade.  It  was 
a  charming  and  home-like  old  house  ;  but  at 
first,  although  my  wife  had  brought  some  be 
longings  from  her  father's  house,  we  missed 
the  pleasant  flavor  of  our  aromatic  uncle,  for 
he  was  now  my  uncle,  as  well  as  my  wife's. 
I  say  at  first,  for  we  did  not  miss  it  long. 
Uncle  David — that  was  his  name — not  only 
continued  to  send  his  fragrant  gifts  to  my 
wife  at  Christmas  and  upon  her  birthday,  but 
he  actually  adopted  me,  too,  and  sent  me 
Chinese  cabinets  and  Chinese  gods  in  various 
minerals  and  metals,  and  many  articles  de 
signed  for  a  smoker's  use,  which  no  smoker 
would  ever  want  to  touch  with  a  ten-foot 
pole.  But  I  cared  very  little  about  the 
utility  of  these  presents,  for  it  was  not  many 
years  before,  among  them  all,  they  set  up 
that  exquisite  perfume  in  the  house,  which 
we  had  learned  to  associate  with  our  aro 
matic  uncle. 


"  FOO-CHOO-LI,  CHINA,  January — ,  18 — . 

"  DEAR  NEPHEW  AND  NIECE  :   The  Present 
is  to  inform  you  that  I  have  this  day  shipped 


200  OUR  AROMATIC  UNCLE 

to  your  address,  per  Steamer  Ocean  Queen, 
one  marble  and  ebony  Table,  six  assorted 
gods,  and  a  blue  Dinner  set ;  also  that  I  pur 
pose  leaving  this  Country  for  a  visit  to  the 
Land  of  my  Nativity  on  the  6th  of  March 
next,  and  will,  if  same  is  satisfactory  to  you, 
take  up  my  Abode  temporarily  in  your 
household.  Should  same  not  be  satisfac 
tory,  please  cable  at  my  charge.  Messrs. 
Smithson  &  Smithson,  my  Customs  Brokers, 
will  attend  to  all  charges  on  the  goods,  and 
will  deliver  them  at  your  readiness.  The 
health  of  this  place  is  better  than  customary 
by  reason  of  the  cool  weather,  which  Health 
I  am  as  usual  enjoying.  Trusting  that  you 
both  are  at  present  in  the  possession  of  the 
same  Blessing,  and  will  so  continue,  I  re 
main,  dear  nephew  and  niece, 

"  Your  affectionate 

"  UNCLE." 


This  was,  I  believe,  by  four  dozen  words — 
those  which  he  used  to  inform  us  of  his  in 
tention  of  visiting  America — the  longest  letter 
that  Uncle  David  had  ever  written  to  any 
member  of  his  family.  It  also  conveyed  more 


TOLD  HIM  ALL  THE   THINGS  THAT   I   SHOULD  NOT  HAVE   KNOWN 
HOW  TO   SAY 


OUR  AROMATIC  UNCLE  201 

information  about  himself  than  he  had  ever 
given  since  the  day  he  ran  away  to  sea.  Of 
course  we  cabled  the  old  gentleman  that  we 
should  be  delighted  to  see  him. 

And,  late  that  Spring,  at  some  date  at 
which  he  could  not  possibly  have  been  ex 
pected  to  arrive,  he  turned  up  at  our  house. 

Of  course  we  had  talked  a  great  deal  about 
him,  and  wondered  what  manner  of  a  man  we 
should  find  him.  Between  us,  my  wife  and  I 
had  got  an  idea  of  his  personal  appearance 
which  I  despair  of  conveying  in  words- 
Vaguely,  I  should  say  that  we  had  pictured 
him  as  something  mid-way  between  an  ab 
normally  tall  Chinese  mandarin  and  a  bene 
volent  Quaker.  What  we  found  when  we  got 
home  and  were  told  that  our  uncle  from 
India  was  awaiting  us,  was  a  shrunken  and 
bent  old  gentleman,  dressed  very  cleanly  and 
neatly  in  black  broadcloth,  with  a  limp, 
many  pleated  shirt-front  of  old-fashioned 
style,  and  a  plain  black  cravat.,  -If  he  had 
worn  an  old-time  stock  we  could  have  for 
given  him  the  rest  of  the  disappointment  he 
cost  us  ;  but  we  had  to  admit  to  ourselves 
that  he  had  the  most  absolutely  commonplace 
appearance  of  all  our  acquaintance.  In  fact, 


202  OUR  AROMATIC  UNCLE 

we  soon  discovered  that,  except  for  a  taciturn 
ity  the  like  of  which  we  had  never  encoun 
tered,  our  aromatic  uncle  had  positively  not 
one  picturesque  characteristic  about  him./ 
Even  his  aroma  was  a  disappointment.  He 
had  it,  but  it  was  patchouly  or  some  other 
cheap  perfume  of  the  sort,  wherewith  he 
scented  his  handkerchief,  which  was  not  even 
a  bandanna,  but  a  plain  decent  white  one  of 
the  unnecessarily  large  sort  which  clergymen 
and  old  gentlemen  affect. 

But,  even  if  we  could  not  get  one  single 
romantic  association  to  cluster  about  him,  we 
very  soon  got  to  like  the  old  gentleman.  It 
is  true  that  at  our  first  meeting,  after  saying 
"  How  d'ye  do  "  to  me  and  receiving  in  im 
passive  placidity  the  kiss  which  my  wife 
gave  him,  he  relapsed  into  dead  silence,  and 
continued  to  smoke  a  clay  pipe  with  a  long 
stem  and  a  short  bowl.  This  instrument  he 
filled  and  re-filled  every  few  minutes,  $nd  it 
seemed  to  be  his  only  employment.  \  We 
plied  him  with  questions,  of  course,  but  to 
these  he  responded  with  a  wonderful  brevity. 
In  the  course  of  an  hour's  conversation  we 
got  from  him  that  he  had  had  a  pleasant 
voyage,  that  it  was  not  a  long  voyage,  that 


OUR  AROMATIC  UNCLE  203 

it  was  not  a  short  voyage,  that  it  was  about 
the  usual  voyage,  that  he  had  not  been  sea 
sick,  that  he  was  glad  to  be  back,  and  that 
he  was  not  surprised  to  find  the  country 
very  much  changed.  This  last  piece  of  in 
formation  was  repeated  in  the  form  of  a 
simple  "No,"  given  in  reply  to  the  direct 
question ;  and  although  it  was  given  politely, 
and  evidently  without  the  least  unamiable 
intent,  it  made  us  both  feel  ve.ry  cheap. 
After  all,  it  ivas  absurd  to  ask  a  man  if  he 
were  surprised  to  find  the  country  changed 
after  fifty  or  sixty  years  of  absence.  Unless 
he  was  an  idiot,  and  unable  to  read  at  that, 
he  must  have  expected  something  of  the 
sort. 

But  we  grew  to  like  him.  He  was 
thoroughly  kind  and  inoffensive  in  every 
way.  He  was  entirely  willing  to  be  talked 
to,  but  he  did  not  care  to  talk.  If  it  was 
absolutely  necessary,  he  could  talk,  and  when 
he  did  talk  he  always  made  me  think  of  the 
.."  French-English  Dictionary  for  the  Pocket," 
compiled  by  the  ingenious  Mr.  John  Bellows  ; 
for  nobody  except  that  extraordinary  Eng 
lishman  could  condense  a  greater  amount  of 
information  into  a  smaller  number  of  words. 


204  OUR  AROMATIC  UNCLE 

During  the  time  of  his  stay  with  ns  I  think  I 
learned  more  about  China  than  any  other 
man  in  the  United  States  knew,  and  I  do  not 
believe  that  the  aggregate  of  his  utterances 
in  the  course  of  that  six  months  could  havo 
amounted  to  one  hour's  continuous  talk. 
Don't  ask  me  for  the  information.  I  had  no 
sort  of  use  for  it,  and  I  forgot  it  as  soon  as 
I  could.  I  like  Chinese  bric-a-brac,  but  my 
interest  in  China  ends  there. 

Yet  it  was  not  long  before  Uncle  David 
slid  into  his  own  place  in  the  family  circle. 
We  soon  found  that  he  did  not  expect  us  to 
entertain  him.  He  wanted  only  to  sit  quiet 
and  smoke  his  pipe,  to  take  his  two  daily 
walks  by  himself,  and  to  read  the  daily  paper 
one  afternoon  and  Macaulay's  "History  of 
England  "  the  next.  He  was  never  tired  of 
sitting  and  gazing  amiably  but  silently  at  my 
wife  ;  and,  to  head  the  list  of  his  good  points, 
he  would  hold  the  baby  by  the  hour,  and  for 
some  mysterious  reason  that  baby,  who  re 
quired  the  exhibition  of  seventeen  toys  in  a 
minute  to  be  reasonably  quiet  in  the  arms  of 
anybody  else,  would  sit  placidly  in  Uncle 
David's  lap,  teething  away  steadily  on  the  old 
gentleman's  watch-chain,  as  quiet  and  as  sol- 


OUR  AROMATIC  UNCLE  205 

emn  and  as  aged  in  appearance  as  any  one  of 
the  assorted  gods  of  porcelain  and  jade  and 
ivory  which  our  aromatic  uncle  had  sent  us. 


The  old  house  in  Boston  was  a  thing  of  the 
past.  My  wife's  parents  had  been  dead  for 
some  years,  and  no  one  remained  of  her  im 
mediate  family  except  a  certain  Aunt  Lucre- 
tia,  who  had  lived  with  them  until  shortly 
before  our  marriage,  when  the  breaking  up  of 
the  family  sent  her  West  to  find  a  home  with 
a  distant  relative  in  California.  We  asked 
Uncle  Davy  if  he  had  stopped  to  see  Aunt 
Lucretia  as  he  came  through  California.  He 
said  he  had  not.  We  asked  him  if  he  wanted 
to  have  Aunt  Lucretia  invited  on  to  pass  a 
visit  during  his  stay  with  us.  He  answered 
that  he  did  not.  This  did  not  surprise  us  at 
all.  You  might  think  that  a  brother  might 
long  to  see  a  sister  from  whom  he  had  been 
separated  nearly  all  of  a  long  lifetime,  but 
then  you  might  never  have  met  Aunt  Lucre 
tia.  My  wife  made  the  offer  only  from  a 
sense  of  duty  ;  and  only  after  a  contest  with 
me  which  lasted  three  days  and  nights. 
Nothing  but  loss  of  sleep  during  an  ex- 


206  OUR  AROMATIC  UNCLE 

ceptionally  busy  time  at  my  office  induced 
me  to  consent  to  her  project  of  inviting 
Aunt  Lucretia.  When  Uncle  David  put 
his  veto  upon  the  proposition  I  felt  that 
he  might  have  taken  back  all  his  rare  and 
costly  gifts,  and  I  could  still  have  loved 
him. 

But  Aunt  Lucretia  came,  all  the  same.  My 
wife  is  afflicted  with  a  New  England  con= 
science,  originally  of  a  most  uncomfortable 
character.  It  has  been  much  modified  and 
ameliorate^,  until  it  is  now  considerably  less 
like  a  case  of  moral  hives  Mbut  some  wretched 
lingering  remnant  of  the  original  article  in 
duced  her  to  write  to  Aunt  Lucretia  that 
Uncle  David  was  staying  with  us,  and  of 
course  Aunt  Lucretia  came  without  invitation 
and  without  warning,  dropping  in  on  us  with 
ruthless  unexpectedness. 


You  may  not  think,  from  what  I  have  said, 
that  Aunt  Lucretia's  visit  was  a  pleasant 
event.  But  it  was,  in  some  respects ;  for  it 
was  not  only  the  shortest  visit  she  ever  paid 
us,  but  it  was  the  last  with  which  she  ever 
honored  us. 


OUR  AROMATIC  UNCLE  207 

She  arrived  one  morning  shortly  after 
breakfast,  just  as  we  were  preparing  to  go  out 
for  a  drive.  She  would  not  have  been  Aunt 
Lucretia  if  she  had  not  upset  somebody's  cal 
culations  at  every  turn  of  her  existence.  We 
welcomed  her  with  as  much  hypocrisy  as  we 
could  summon  to  our  aid  on  short  notice,  and 
she  was  not  more  than  usually  offensive,  al 
though  she  certainly  did  herself  full  justice  in 
telling  us  what  she  thought  of  us  for  not  in 
viting  her  as  soon  as  we  even  heard  of  Uncle 
David's  intention  to  return  to  his  native  land. 
She  said  she  ought  to  have  been  the  first  to 
embrace  her  beloved  brother — to  whom  I  don't 
believe  she  had  given  one  thought  in  more 
years  than  I  have  yet  seen. 

Uncle  David  was  dressing  for  his  drive. 
His  long  residence  in  tropical  countries  had 
rendered  him  sensitive  to  the  cold,  and  al 
though  it  was  a  fine,  clear  September  day, 
with  the  thermometer  at  about  sixty,  he  was 
industriously  building  himself  up  with  a  ser 
ies  of  overcoats.  On  a  really  snappy  day  I 
have  known  him  to  get  into  six  of  these 
garments ;  and  when  he  entered  the  room 
on  this  occasion  I  think  he  had  on  five,  at 
least. 


208  OUR  AROMATIC  UNCLE 

My  wifo  had  heard  his  familiar  foot  on  the 
stairs,  and  Aunt  Lucretia  had  risen  up  and 
braced  herself  for  an  outburst  of  emotional 
affection.  I  could  see  that  it  was  going  to  bo 
such  a  greeting  as  is  given  only  once  in  two 
or  three  centuries,  and  then  on  the  stage.  I 
felt  sure  it  would  end  in  a  swoon,  and  I  was 
looking  around  for  a  sofa-pillow  for  the  old 
lady  to  fall  upon,  for  from  what  I  knew  of 
Aunt  Lucretia  I  did  not  believe  she  had  ever 
swooned  enough  to  be  able  to  go  through 
the  performance  without  danger  to  her  aged 
person. 

But  I  need  not  have  troubled  myself.  Uncle 
David  toddled  into  the  room,  gazed  at  Aunt 
Lucretia  without  a  sign  of  recognition  in  his 
features,  and  toddled  out  into  the  hall,  whoro 
he  got  his  hat  and  gloves,  and  went  out  to 
the  front  lawn,  where  he  always  paced  up 
and  down  for  a  few  minutes  before  taking 
a  drive,  in  order  to  stimulate  his  circula 
tion.  This  was  a  surprise,  but  Aunt  Lu- 
cretia's  behavior  was  a  greater  surprise. 
The  moment  she  set  eyes  on  Uncle  David 
the  theatrical  fervor  went  out  of  her  entire 
system,  literally  in  one  instant ;  and  an 
absolutely  natural,  unaffected  astonishment 


OUR  AROMATIC  UNCLE  209 

displayed  itself  in  her  expressive  and  strong 
ly  marked  features.  For  almost  a  minute, 
until  the  sound  of  Uncle  David's  footsteps 
had  died  away,  she  stood  absolutely  rigid ; 
while  my  wife  and  I  gazed  at  her  spell 
bound. 

Then  Aunt  Lucretia  pointed  one  long  bony 
finger  at  me,  and  hissed  out  with  a  true  femi 
nine  disregard  of  grammar : 

"  That  aint  him  !  " 


"David,"  said  Aunt  Lucretia,  impressively, 
"  had  only  one  arm.  He  lost  the  other  in 
Madagascar." 

I  was  too  dumbfounded  to  take  in  the  situ 
ation.  I  remember  thinking,  in  a  vague  sort 
of  way,  that  Madagascar  was  a  curious  sort  of 
place  to  go  for  the  purpose  of  losing  an  arm ; 
but  I  did  not  apprehend  the  full  significance 
of  this  disclosure  until  I  heard  my  wife's  dis 
tressed  protestations  that  Aunt  Lucretia  must 
be  mistaken;  there  must  be  some  horrible 
mistake  somewhere. 

But  Aunt  Lucretia  was  not  mistaken,  and 
there  was  no  mistake  anywhere.  The  arm 
had  been  lost,  and  lost  in  Madagascar,  and 
14 


210  OUH  AROMATIC   UNCLK 

she  could  give  the  date  of  the  occurrence, 
and  the  circumstances  attendant.  Moreover, 
ip,^  she  produced  her  evidence  on  the  spot.  It 
was  an  old  daguerreotype,  taken  in  Calcutta 
a  year  or  two  after  the  Madagascar  episode. 
She  had  it  in  her  hand-bag,  and  she  opened 
it  with  fingers  trembling  with  rage  and  ex 
citement.  It  showed  two  men  standing  side 
by  side  near  one  of  those  three-foot  Ionic 
pillars  that  were  an  indispensable  adjunct  of 
photography  in  its  early  stages.  One  of  the 
men  was  large,  broad-shouldered,  and  hand 
some — unmistakably  a  handsome  edition  of 
Aunt  Lucretia.  His  empty  left  sleeve  was 
pinned  across  his  breast.  The  other  man 
was  making  allowance  for  the  difference  in 
years,  no  less  unmistakably  the  Uncle  David 
who  was  at  that  moment  walking  to  and  fro 
under  our  windows.  For  one  instant  my 
wife's  face  lighted  up. 

"  Why,  Aunt  Lucretia,"  she  cried,  "  there 
he  is!  That's  Uncle  David,  dear  Uncle 
David." 

"  There  he  is  not"  replied  Aunt  Lucretia. 
"  That's  his  business  partner — some  common 
person  that  he  picked  up  on  the  ship  he  first 
sailed  in — and,  upon  my  word,  I  do  believe 


YOU'RE   MY  OWN   DEAR    UNCLE   DAVID,    ANYWAY  !  " 


OUR  AROMATIC  UNCLE  211 

it's  that  wretched  creature  outside.  And 
I'll  Uncle  David  him." 

She  marched  out  like  a  grenadier  going  to 
battle,  and  we  followed  her  meekly.  There 
was,  unfortunately,  no  room  for  doubt  in  the 
case.  It  only  needed  a  glance  to  see  that  the 
man  with  one  arm  was  a  member  of  my  wife's 
family,  and  that  the  man  by  his  side,  our  Uncle 
David,  bore  no  resemblance  to  him  in  stature 
or  features. 

Out  on  the  lawn  Aunt  Lucretia  sailed  into 
the  dear  old  gentleman  in  the  five  overcoats 
with  a  volley  of  vituperation.  He  did  not 
interrupt  her,  but  stood  patiently  to  the  end, 
listening,  with  his  hands  behind  his  back  ; 
and  when,  with  her  last  gasp  of  available 
breath,  Aunt  Lucretia  demanded : 

"  Who — who — who  are  you,  you  wretch  ?  '' 
he  responded,  calmly  and  respectfully  : 

"  I'm  Tommy  Biggs,  Miss  Lucretia." 

But  just  here  my  wife  threw  herself  on  his 
neck  and  hugged  him,  and  cried : 

"  You're  my  own  dear  Uncle  David,  any 
way  !  " 

It  was  a  fortunate,  a  gloriously  fortunate, 
inspiration.  Aunt  Lucretia  drew  herself  up 
in  speechless  scorn,  stretched  forth  her  bony 


212  OUR  AROMATIC  UNCLE 

finger,  tried  to  say  something  and  failed,  and 
then  she  and  her  hand-bag  went  out  of  my 
gates,  never  to  come  in  again. 


When  she  had  gone,  our  aromatic  uncle — 
for  we  shall  always  continue  to  think  of  him 
in  that  light,  or  rather  in  that  odor — looked 
thoughtfully  after  her  till  she  disappeared, 
and  then  made  one  of  the  few  remarks  I 
ever  knew  him  to  volunteer. 

"Ain't  changed  a  mite  in  forty-seven 
years." 

Up  to  this  time  I  had  been  in  a  dazed  con 
dition  of  mind.  As  I  have  said,  my  wife's 
family  was  extinct  save  for  herself  and  Aunt 
Lucretia,  and  she  remembered  so  little  of  her 
parents,  and  she  looked  herself  so  little  like 
Aunt  Lucretia,  that  it  was  small  wonder 
that  neither  of  us  remarked  Uncle  David's 
unlikeness  to  the  family  type.  We  knew  that 
he  did  not  resemble  the  ideal  we  had  formed 
of  him ;  and  that  had  been  the  only  considera 
tion  we  had  given  to  his  looks.  Now,  it  took 
only  a  moment  of  reflection  to  recall  the  fact 
that  all  the  members  of  the  family  had  been 
tall  and  shapely,  and  that  even  between  the 


OUR  AROMATIC  UNCLE  213 

ugly  ones,  like  Aunt  Lucretia,  and  the  pretty 
ones,  like  my  wife,  there  was  a  certain  re 
semblance.  Perhaps  it  was  only  the  nose — 
the  nose  is  the  brand  in  most  families,  I  be 
lieve—but  whatever  it  was,  I  had  only  to  see 
my  wife  and  Aunt  Lucretia  together  to  real 
ize  that  the  man  who  had  passed  himself  off 
as  our  Uncle  David  had  not  one  feature  in 
common  with  either  of  them — nor  with  the 
one-armed  man  in  the  daguerreotype.  I  was 
thinking  of  this,  and  looking  at  my  wife's 
troubled  face,  when  our  aromatic  uncle 
touched  me  on  the  arm. 

"  I'll  explain,"  he  said,  "  to  you.  You  tell 
her:1 

We  dismissed  the  carriage,  went  into  the 
house,  and  sat  down.  The  old  gentleman 
was  perfectly  cool  and  collected,  but  he  lit  his 
clay  pipe,  and  reflected  for  a  good  five  min 
utes  before  he  opened  his  mouth.  Then  he 
began : 

"  Finest  man  in  the  world,  sir.  Finest  ~boy 
in  the  world.  Never  anything  like  him. 
But,  peculiarities.  Had  'em.  Peculiarities. 
Wouldn't  write  home.  Wouldn't — "  here  he 
hesitated — "  send  things  home.  I  had  to  do 
it.  Did  it  for  him.  Didn't  want  his  folks  to 


214  OUR  AROMATIC  UNCLE 

know.  Other  peculiarities.  Never  had  any 
money.  Other  peculiarities.  Drank.  Other 
peculiarities.  Ladies.  Finest  man  in  the 
world,  all  the  same.  Nobody  like  him.  Kept 
him  right  with  his  folks  for  thirty-one  years. 
Then  died.  Fever.  Canton.  Never  been 
myself  since.  Kept  right  on  writing,  all  the 
same.  Also — "  here  he  hesitated  again — 
" sending  things.  Why?  Don't  know.  Been 
a  fool  all  my  life.  Never  could  do  anything 
but  make  money.  No  family,  no  friends. 
Only  him.  Ran  away  to  sea  to  look  after 
him.  Did  look  after  him.  Thought  maybe 
your  wife  would  be  some  like  him.  Barring 
peculiarities,  she  is.  Getting  old.  Came  here 
for  company.  Meant  no  harm.  Didn't  calcu 
late  on  Miss  Lucretia." 

Here  he  paused  and  smoked  reflectively 
for  a  minute  or  two. 

"  Hot  in  the  collar  —  Miss  Lucretia. 
Haughty.  Like  him,  some.  Just  like  she 
was  forty-seven  years  ago.  Slapped  my 
face  one  day  when  I  was  delivering  meat, 
because  my  jumper  wasn't  clean.  Ain't 
changed  a  mite." 

This  was  the  first  condensed  statement 
of  the  case  of  our  aromatic  uncle.  It  was 


THE   DUPLICITY   OF   WHICH   HE   HAD   BEEN   GUILTY   WEIGHED 
ON   HIS    SPIRIT 


OUR  AROMATIC1  UNCLE  215 

only  in  reply  to  patient,  and,  I  hope,  lov 
ing,  gentle,  and  considerate  questioning  that 
the  whole  story  came  out — at  once  pitiful 
and  noble — of  the  poor  little  butcher-boy 
who  ran  away  to  sea  to  be  body-guard, 
servant,  and  friend  to  the  splendid,  showy, 
selfish  youth  whom  he  worshipped;  whose 
heartlessness  he  cloaked  for  many  a  long 
year,  who  lived  upon  his  bounty,  and  who 
died  in  his  arms,  nursed  with  a  tenderness 
surpassing  that  of  a  brother.  And  as  far  as  I 
could  find  out,  ingratitude  and  contempt  had 
been  his  only  reward. 


I  need  not  tell  you  that  when  I  repeated 
all  this  to  my  wife  she  ran  to  the  old  gentle 
man's  room  and  told  him  all  the  things 
that  I  should  not  have  known  how  to  say — 
that  we  cared  for  him ;  that  we  wanted  him  to 
stay  with  us ;  that  he  was  far,  far  more  our 
uncle  than  the  brilliant,  unprincipled  scape 
grace  who  had  died  years  before,  dead  for 
almost  a  lifetime  to  the  family  who  idolized 
him ;  and  that  we  wanted  him  to  stay  with  us 
as  long  as  kind  heaven  would  let  him.  But  it 
was  of  no  use.  A  change  had  come  over  our 


216  OUR  AROMATIC  UNCLE 

aromatic  uncle  which  we  could  both  of  us  sec, 
but  could  not  understand.  The  duplicity  of 
which  he  had  been  guilty  weighed  on  his 
spirit.  The  next  day  he  went  out  for  his 
usual  walk,  and  he  never  came  back.  We 
used  every  means  of  search  and  inquiry,  but 
we  never  heard  from  him  until  we  got  this 
letter  from  Foo-choo-li : 


"  DEAR  NEPHEW  AND  NIECE  :  The  present  is 
to  inform  you  that  I  am  enjoying  the  Health 
that  might  be  expected  at  my  Age,  and  in  my 
condition  of  Body,  which  is  to  say  bad.  I 
ship  you  by  to-day's  steamer,  Pacific  Monarch, 
four  dozen  jars  of  ginger,  and  two  dozen  ditto 
preserved  oranges,  to  which  I  would  have 
added  some  other  Comfits,  which  I  purposed 
offering  for  your  acceptance,  if  it  were  not 
that  my  Physician  has  forbidden  me  to 
leave  my  Bed.  In  case  of  Fatal  Eesults 
from  this  trying  Condition,  my  Will,  duly 
attested,  and  made  in  your  favor,  will  be 
placed  in  your  hands  by  Messrs.  Smithson 
&  Smithson,  my  Customs  Brokers,  who  will 
also  pay  all  charges  on  goods  sent.  The 
Health  of  this  place  being  unfavorably  af- 


OUR    AROMATIC    UNCLE  217 

fected  by  the  Weather,  you  are  unlikely  to 
Lear  more  from, 

"  Dear  Nephew  and  Niece, 

"  Your  affectionate 

"UNCLE." 

And  we  never  did  hear  more — except  for 
his  will — from  Our  Aromatic  Uncle  ;  but  our 
whole  house  still  smells  of  his  love. 


t    Ous.  AROTVUIC  LUxe 


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FEB   211933 

1934 
JUL   12  1935 

1   1937 
NOy  181941 


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